Nowhere Left to Run
by FallenCrimsonStar
Summary: Hermione and Draco have not seen each other for 6yrs, not since their one night stand. But once he realises the depths of the secrets she's kept from him, he sets out to make her his, Malfoy pride and scheming ex-spouses be damned. Four-shot Dramione. COMPLETE.
1. A Soiree of Sensations

**A/N: Hi there! ^_^  
>So, this was originally a one shot, then a three shot, then a multichapter... then a three shot again... And now, having posted part 3, it is officially a four shot. Crazy, I know. That's me in a nut shell. Anyway, it's my first four shot, so be gentle. The word count is higher than I originally intended, but you'll love it anyway… *bats eyelashes hopefully* ;)<strong>

**Can't think of anything that needs a warning so, enjoy! :)**

…

– Part 1 –  
>.:. A Soiree of Sensations .:.<p>

…

**6 years and 9 months ago…**

Hermione Jean Granger was standing on a precipice… literally. She felt light headed, like one would with the sensations of a high altitude; a fierce wind blowing like ice against her skin and that basic, primal urge to jump. That was what had gotten her into this mess: other people's primal instincts. She thought she had it all, the Gryffindor princess, one of the golden trio, a war heroine, and recipient of the Order of Merlin - First Class. She also had more money than she knew what to do with, even after her numerous donations to help rebuild the Wizarding world.

And where had all of that gotten her? She was engaged to Ronald "_bloody_" Weasley for months before he finally agreed on a date for the wedding. Sure, she'd wanted to get her career moving forward before getting engaged, and have some kind of security before getting married, but watching Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley tying the knot within a year after the war ended had made her want to as well.

Silly, right?

And sure, Harry had gotten Ginny pregnant early, despite their precautions, necessitating the rushed wedding, but Ron had not given Hermione _any_ indication that he wanted to marry one day. They went from celebrating the fall of Voldemort together, giddy in love, to getting an apartment in Muggle London and taking their first steps into the "real" world; all awhile, he gave her the run around.

Ron helped out at his brother's joke shop for awhile, then underwent Auror training only to quit shortly after being accepted into the division in the ministry.

He then tried out for the position of Outside Chaser with Chudley Cannons, his favourite team. He used his celebrity status to avoid being placed in the team's reserve squad. The cannons had been having a particularly bad year, but once Ronald got the place on the team, their play improved. His goal was ultimately to have the position of Keeper, and Hermione had to keep reminding him he wasn't in Hogwarts anymore.

And then she had to remind him of one too many things and the arguments started. He'd hurt her really bad one night, accusing of comparing him to the famous Harry Potter and in a fit of jealously, called her a few things that would make his mother back hand him like a Muggle instead of a witch.

He always did have a foul mouth on him.

As a part of his apology, he agreed to whatever she wanted for their wedding and spent every day up until then making it up to her. She thought he was in love with her, she thought she loved him. But walking in on him and Lavender Brown having sex in a guest room in the hotel only an hour after they'd said their vows was not what she had planned for the happiest day of her life.

Hermione sighed, a bottle of Firewhiskey in one hand, while her other hand held tightly to the support beam that jutted out of the tallest building in Wickham, a small village only ten miles from the Muggle city of Carlow. The village was capped in snow, reminding her of Hogsmeade; populated by both magical and non-magical citizens, Wickham was one of those rare places where many of the Muggles knew of the magical world. Of course, the Muggles here were related to Muggleborns, by either blood or marriage, so it wasn't against any known law for them to know. After all, this was the Republic of Ireland and _not_ England. From what Hermione had heard England was one of the strictest countries in the world when it came to interaction with Muggles.

She looked down over the quiet village, the setting sun only two hours ago giving way to a strangely mournful atmosphere. She was normally terrified of heights, unless standing on solid ground, but tonight was special. She was celebrating her renewed single status and the end of hope and naively believing she was going to be happy. If she wasn't meant to be with Ron, then who? There was no-one that came to mind, and so she settled for believing she was going to spend the rest of her life sad and alone.

Tonight, she loved heights; she felt the frosty wind, the reminder that while snow looked nice, it was abrasive against bare skin. She wasn't wearing a jacket, dressed only in jeans and a spaghetti strap shirt. But she didn't care. Hermione threw her head back and drank the rest of her alcoholic beverage in one go. The dizzy feeling was accompanied by a blurred vision this time as she looked down over her precipice from atop the railing on the clock tower. It was time she decided what she was going to do about that.

Everyone who knew her was looking in her usual haunts, probably trying desperately to find her. But it was here, at the highest point in Wickham that she came now, feeling lower than she had in years. It was her first time here, but she'd been to other villages that look just like this one, so she decided they were all called Wickham, and all of them were seedy. But, instead of giving into the wild abandon urge to jump down from here and just close her eyes, she focused on her _destination_,_ determination, deliberation_, and Disapparated.

It was a little difficult with the Firewhiskey slowing down her thoughts, but she managed to apparate just outside of The Serpent's Tongue; only halfway between her starting point and the edge of Wickham, it was a magical pub. She'd heard about it from a recently procured friend who came from France. It was a popular place to visit if you happened to have been sorted into Slytherin while attending Hogwarts.

Her friend, Anastasie Babineaux, was getting married to Marcus Flint in several months time. She seemed nice enough though.

'_So maybe I'm looking for some Slytherins,'_ she thought as she hesitated to enter the pub.

Some _hot_ Slytherins to take her mind off of a particularly _vile_ Gryffindor.

Hermione wasn't a heavy drinker, nor did she often frequent Irish pubs, but as she'd told herself only minutes ago, tonight was special. This was her spiral into both eternal depression and the freedom one felt when they annulled a marriage that would've only made them miserable anyway. She could not believe she still had feelings for Ronald Weasley! His stupid arse face wouldn't get out of her head, so she stomped over to the door to The Serpent's Tongue and stormed inside. Thankfully, even the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade was scarier than this place. Well, too bad either way. If she wasn't afraid of Voldemort or being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, then a few low lives were nothing she couldn't handle.

She headed straight for the bar, digging her hands into her handbag. As usual, she'd used an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, so in all her drunken glory (which wasn't that bad, surely!), she took a few moments to remember to summon the money she needed straight out of the handbag and save herself some time.

"Granger! Over here!"

She knew that voice. Hermione glanced around and spotted the table of disorderly former Slytherins a moment later (it was more of a booth, really). The one who had called out to her was Marcus Flint himself. Ever since she'd befriended his fiancé, he'd been pleasant enough toward her. But now that he was clearly drunk, he was waving her over like she was some old school friend he hadn't seen for years.

"Bartender!" He called, indicating to the table. "Bring it here!"

Hermione nodded to the toothless wizard behind the bar to show that she agreed and walked over to Flint's table. She didn't stumble or sway, which was nice, and at the large Quidditch player's insistence, she squeezed into their booth before remembering to look around and see who her other drinking buddies were. Her eyes widened slightly at the position she'd put herself in, but there were five men in the booth, and none of them were glaring at her with disdain. Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, and Marcus Flint were obviously sloshed, with mixed expressions: curiosity, nonchalance, and dreamy, self induced reverie.

The platinum blonde next to her however, was not drunk. Draco Malfoy's face was unreadable as he simply appraised her, not complaining that the "mudblood" was sitting so close to him that their shoulders were practically humping each other. Hermione wondered if he had even ingested any intoxicants at all. He certainly _looked_ sober, his eyes lingering on her as he remained silent.

Zabini, Nott, and Goyle didn't react to Hermione's presence; she accepted the Firewhiskey from the approaching waiter and watched in fascination as one by one, they each fell asleep at the table. Blaise mumbled a few inarticulate words before Marcus held out his mug of mead toward the only girl of their group like he was making a toast. She already knew he was looking forward to his impending marriage and was being nice to her because of Anastasie. His parents were killed in the war, so he was free to marry whomever he wished. He grinned at the Gryffindor.

"Here's to you, Hermione," he said, barely slurring out the sentence. He hiccoughed and then spoke a little more evenly: "For kicking some serious arse in the war and freeing me of my social responsibilities."

He nodded to her, finished off his mead, and then slumped backward and slipped under the table, onto the Floor, and unconscious. She couldn't help but laugh at that. But once her laughter died down, she felt suddenly self conscious, basically left alone with Draco Malfoy, who was still staring at her like one would a seductress in Muggle clothing.

"What are you looking at?" She asked, trying to hide her anxiety as she went back to drinking her adult beverage.

"I'm wondering why Flint invited you over, and why you came," he said evenly.

She shrugged. It had to be the alcohol. Draco shifted next to her, his face now inches from the crook of her neck as he moved his left arm up behind her. His breath was warm on her bare skin as she remembered again how little she was wearing for this climate.

"Did you apparate here straight from Diagon Alley or something?" He asked, breathing in the scent of vanilla musk she'd inattentively doused herself with earlier.

She trembled lightly, not sure if it was the Firewhiskey or Draco's voice in her ear making her breathless. "Yeah, that's it," she snapped, "and then I decided I wanted to freeze to death."

Thank Merlin she'd managed that without stuttering.

"You're drunk," he informed her, as though she didn't already know.

"No, just tipsy."

True enough, she felt more alert than she had only a few minutes earlier. She was certainly breathing a little deeper as well, _very_ aware of her own physical reactions to Draco's presence.

Drowning in her sorrow over Ronald Weasley, she'd forgotten that had been her first bottle of Firewhiskey, but now, sitting next to Draco Malfoy in a dimly lit booth, she was mentally struggling against the warmth of his body. He was not hiding his sudden interest in her, having turned to face her in the tight space, and ignoring the occasional grunts of his friends as they dreamt of god knows what.

"Then drink up," he said huskily, causing her to tremble again.

"Stop coming on to me," she hissed.

He smirked. "Never going to happen."

She ignored him and he dropped his right hand to her knee. "Let's play a little game."

She eyed off his hand, but did nothing about it. "No. I'm perfectly content to just sit here and sulk."

"Sulk? And what exactly are you sulking over?"

She didn't respond.

"Oh of course, Weaslebee," he said, "I heard you finally tied yourself to him. Are you married yet?"

He'd been in Ireland and out of the gossip loop himself, preparing for his own matrimonial vows. He was looking forward to marrying Astoria Greengrass as much as Hermione Granger would want to marry Voldemort, but it was expected of him, apparently. He didn't want to think of what life would be with some trophy wife who thought the height of high society came through knowing what drapes would best match her new overpriced outfit. She was just a slag. Sure, she was easy on the eyes, but dense as a tree trunk.

Hermione shook her head, and he held tighter to her leg.

He wanted to tell her to slow down when she ordered more drinks. She was one witch, how much could she drink before passing out? But he didn't want her sober. She'd never let him fuck her if she wasn't so intent on getting plastered. He had a long string of tedious, unbearable years ahead of him, of sleeping with one woman, and the idea of a last shag, a final bout with someone who didn't believe in carrying a conversation with friends let alone her intended, was _very_ tempting, even if that last shag was Granger.

His eyes raked over her exposed arms, down to the curves of her breasts and lingered. She was interesting enough to look at, so he'd have no problem there. His pants were already feeling a little tighter than usual. But even drunk, she needed _work_. When she started to slow down the rate of her ingestion, he decided to tease her.

"How old are you, Hermione _Jean_ Granger?" Draco smirked. Yeah, he knew her full name.

She took offence to his tone though, as if he'd just sneered his question.

"Older than you, you _twit_," she snapped, and slapped away his left hand as he tried to pull on her hair.

He knew she was twenty-one. It was still January, so he was still twenty; but she didn't need to know that.

Draco was rather liking this drunk version of the famous Hermione Granger. He'd never seen her as anything other than the uptight, prissy cow of a best friend of Saint Potter, regardless of how nice she looked when she put the effort into her appearance. He'd been both shell shocked and impressed at the Yule Ball, but the idea of seeing her drunk and taking advantage of her…

He mulled on that again, as Hermione threw her head back and skulled her Firewhiskey in one go.

She wiped at her mouth clumsily. "Okay, let's play a little game, shall we?"

So, she was ready now, was she?

She nodded furiously. "It's called 'insulting Ronald Weasley until I pass out'."

"Let it never be said Hermione Granger didn't know how to party," Draco said sardonically, leaning his head toward hers and nuzzling her neck.

"Mmm," she moaned. "Stop that."

"No."

Hermione started to breathe even heavier as Draco slithered his right hand along her exposed skin, gently brushing. He made a slow, calculating bee line for her cleavage as his lips played with her pulse point. She froze in place, not sure if she wanted to hex him or let him continue. But she was here to have a good time, and he was the only remotely sober man in the pub that was attractive.

'_Oh, Merlin.'_

Draco Malfoy nipped the sensitive flesh along Hermione's neck, causing her to jerk slightly, and chuckled at her reaction. She placed her Firewhiskey down on the table and moved her shoulders to accommodate his ministrations.

It was an extremely public place to be doing something so intimate, but neither of them felt compelled to care. And as Draco's hand moved to her right breast, Hermione found herself closing her eyes. She bit her lip as his thumb made small circles over her clothed nipple.

"Will you help me?" She said softly, her breath coming out in pants as Draco pinched her with every syllable.

"Hm," he said, non-committal.

"I want to humiliate Ron, I want to make him hurt."

He groaned in pleasure. It would turn him on, watching her pleasure over that git's misfortunes. He started to kiss her skin more gently now, moving toward her mouth as his hand was finishing with her breast, moving south.

"My pleasure," he purred.

"Hm."

Hermione's eyes snapped open as he licked her jaw. "Stop," she murmured.

Taken aback, Draco pulled away from her, the disappointment gracing his handsome features before he could steady his expression. A sick, twisted feeling in her gut had Hermione out of the booth and running into the night air. Without hesitation, the platinum blonde followed her, not caring that his friends were still unconscious in that seedy pub. It wasn't like they hadn't done it to themselves before after all. He was more worried about the girl he was chasing.

He caught up to her quickly and grabbed her before she could Disapparate away.

"Get away from me!" She snapped.

This was so _wrong_. Hermione had been feeling so _good_, desperately and wantonly, and then suddenly she could barely breathe. It wasn't Ronald; no, it was never _him_. It was Draco. He made her want to pretend the last three years hadn't happened and just let him shag her senseless. But there were so many logical reasons to just push him away…

"No Granger," he said huskily, "you're not getting away from me that easily."

She sniffed quietly as he pulled her into his chest, his arms holding her so tightly it _hurt_. She glanced back toward The Serpent's Tongue, thinking about his sleeping friends, but he didn't seem bothered. They would likely wake up, stumble into the nearest fireplace, or take the Knight Bus home. He didn't _care_.

All of a sudden, Draco gripped her tightly, spinning on his heels as he Disapparated them. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, as she'd heard was best to do if accompanying someone on side-along apparition, and drunk.

'_Drunk as a keg.'_

She felt the familiar pressing sensation and the moment her feet hit the ground, she felt like throwing up.

"Where are we?"

"In the alley behind your Muggle apartment complex," Draco said, and stared at her.

Hermione looked around. How had he known where to go to get here?

"I want to hex him," she said softly.

"Weaslebee?"

Hermione nodded. Draco smiled. He would love nothing better than to watch that ginger shite writhe and worm, but he preferred the x-rated scenario that was currently playing in his head to _that_.

"I'm not denying Weaslebee deserves whatever you have planned to do to him," he said, now smirking. "But in the state you're in, you're likely to accidentally _kill_ the git."

She snorted. "And that's bad because..?"

"It's not," he said seriously. "But you'll end up in Azkaban. And while the jail has improved considerably with the removal of the Dementors, it's still inescapable and no place for a lady."

Hermione snorted again. Draco Malfoy was insinuating she was a lady? Maybe the word mudblood had finally lost its charm for him.

"Yeah _right_," she snapped.

"Fine," Draco said, throwing his hands up in a show of defeat, "go to prison for the rest of your natural life. I'm sure Weaslebee is worth it."

Hermione snarled. Okay, so Ronald Weasley wasn't worth risking going to Azkaban. But by the look on Malfoy's face, he had an alternate idea.

"What do _you_ suggest I do?" She asked, more than a little curious.

Draco smiled slightly. "You could always forget the rodent and have sex with me."

She scoffed at him, but he didn't miss the slight tinge of blush on her cheeks. She was already flushed from drinking Firewhiskey all night, but now her face had reddened considerably. He smirked at her, knowing she was considering agreeing with him. The mental gears were on overdrive, despite her inebriated condition. Finally, she fixed him with a glare.

"I am _drunk_, Mister _Malfoy_," she said. "Don't come onto me."

"Not so drunk that you'd deny being drunk," he pointed out.

"And yet _you_ are completely sober," she countered. "So if I were to have sex with you, it could be construed as being taken advantage of."

"You're thinking too much," he said. "Drunks don't over think things."

"You've never seen me drunk before."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Have you ever _been_ drunk before?"

She thought about that, but for once, her mind was drawing a blank. "N-no."

"Come on," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along.

"I can walk just fine," she complained. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"Really?"

She hiccupped. "N-no?"

"It's okay," he whispered huskily in her ear. "I'm going to take care of you."

She nodded and she was again ensnared in the crushing darkness of side-along apparition that always left her breathless. Except this time, she held tighter to Draco. He was able to take her past the wards she normally set up in her apartment because she was willingly participating in the apparition. But as soon as their feet hit ground, she had her wand out and disarmed them just in case. She didn't need a piercing alarm in her head right now.

Again, how did he know where she lived? But then she remembered he knew she was supposed to marry Ronald Weasley. There had been a tasteful "coming out" article in the Daily Prophet, in which Hermione and Ron had both been interviewed in her apartment. It wasn't like they were advertising where she lived, but it was pretty obvious it was Muggle London, and anyone with any influence could get the apartment number, easy.

Had he really looked her up?

This thought made her tremble: not in fear or revulsion, but in expectation. It made sense to her inebriated mind now; he had wanted her for a while now. The feel of his lips on hers as she grabbed him roughly was invigorating. It was her turn to take control. She wanted this, she _needed_ it; more than that, she needed him. He was so perfect, so beautiful, and so intoxicating.

Draco Malfoy was looking very _delicious_ right now. And after everything she'd been through, she deserved a moment of happiness, even though it would be with the annoying bully who had tormented her at Hogwarts. His hand brushed hers, moving slowly up her arm as she broke their kiss to watch the movement. His fingers found her pulse, settling on her throat and lightly caressing her skin. Her eyes drifted now to his, to find him staring at her face. They stood in the middle of her living room, just staring at each other.

She was the first one to smile.

"My bed is this way," she said softly, and he followed her.

It wasn't as large as he was used to, but Draco didn't care. A bed was a bed. He quickly followed her onto it as she started to strip in front of him. She was wearing a strapless bra and matching red knickers. He wanted to rip them off of her, and after quickly disposing of his outer garments, finding himself only in boxers he climbed on top of the luscious brunette before she could steal this honour from him.

Hermione giggled softly, and let him unclasp her bra. His eyes were lust filled, staring up into hers as he rid her of the offending underwear. She was feeling giddy, and had to slap herself mentally. She wasn't used to being this intoxicated, wondering if maybe her rational mind was somehow unaffected, as she hadn't felt more clear headed, more _sure_ of what she wanted.

"Hmm," she moaned, watching as Draco took off his boxers and hovered over her, his body pressed deeply into hers.

He was nicely endowed and she found herself instinctively reaching out to him as he pressed their lips together. The kiss wasn't deep, but retained an even deeper sensuality to it regardless. They were just getting started, and he didn't want to lose himself in the moment: not yet anyway.

Draco was pleasantly surprised when she gripped him gently, massaging his muscle. He returned the favour as his shaft stiffened in her hands, and slid his fingers into her wet sex. She let go of him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She didn't ever want to let go of him as her body responded to his ministrations. With her breasts pressed heavily against his toned chest, she came onto his fingers, shuddering as he removed his hand. She gasped at the sensations building and writhing inside of her. A warm, yet slightly burning sensation was twisting within her.

"You have no idea," Draco whispered, as she broke their kiss in her reverie. "You have no idea how fucking sexy you are."

Hermione moaned as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs making small circles around her nipples. She kissed him furiously, closing her eyes, and spreading her legs. He bit her bottom lip, filling her in one swift stroke. She clenched around his shaft and he groaned out what he was thinking. She could ultimately admit the feeling was mutual, but in her inebriation, all she could manage was a succession of cries and lustful groans.

Her eyes snapped open as Draco deepened their kiss now, moving his hips faster, grinding her as she bucked upward to meet his thrusts. She could suddenly taste an undefinable tang of alcohol in his mouth. He was exploring her cavern as she sighed deeply. He had been drinking after all, but this taste was different to Firewhiskey, more _refined_. She supposed that as a high society pureblood, he was more used to the finer alcoholic beverages. So despite having had his share of intoxicants for the night, he was lucid enough to know _exactly_ what he was doing.

Hermione lifted her knees, trying to draw more of him into her as she pushed down on him again. He slid in deeper and stars blinded her vision. She held onto him, riding out the euphoria and with a final stroke, he came inside her. She couldn't move. A mixture of after sex lethargy and a dull thudding in her head was making her slightly nauseous. She didn't want to throw up, it would ruin the moment.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to regain her grip on her mind. It was slow going, and once Draco had recovered, he slid out of her. He grabbed her, pulled her back against him, spooning her as he rained kisses on her neck.

The sensation of Draco Malfoy curled up behind her was somehow relaxing, and after a few inaudible words from the both of them, she fell asleep.

It was after midnight. It was almost two o'clock in the morning before Draco had gathered enough energy in his body to move. He didn't want to leave Hermione in the middle of the night, it wasn't very gentlemanly, but there couldn't be a morning after. This was a onetime shag, a frenzied bout of sensations for the both of them. It could never be anymore.

And suddenly, that thought both sobered and saddened him.

Draco kissed Hermione gently, wishing he could stay. No, he wasn't madly in love with her all of a sudden, but when the sun finally came up, his mother would be hounding him and if he wasn't in his apartment when she came calling he was going to be in trouble.

There it was again, that urge to stay with Hermione and forget all about his responsibilities. He wasn't in love with Astoria Greengrass either, but the Gryffindor princess had stirred something inside of him he didn't know he had. It had to be all that hatred she was exuding for that Weaslebee, right? They both agreed that prick needed to be castrated and hung out to dry. Hermione deserved a happy ending, even if Draco hadn't actually come out and told her, and he hoped she found it.

'_I want that too.'_

He finished dressing and ran his hand over her naked form for a moment, lamenting on what he was leaving behind. But they could never be, not just because of his engagement to the Greengrass, but also because his parents would never accept this Muggleborn witch.

He was a coward. He had always been a coward.

He whispered softly in Hermione's ear, hoping that somehow she could hear him.

"Thank you."

Draco grabbed the rest of his belongings and looked back at the sleeping brunette before Disapparating out of the apartment. He couldn't love her, could he? If he had learnt anything from his parents, it was that there was no such thing as a happy ending. At least not for _him_.

… …

… …

**6 years and 9 months later…**

Émilie Rose Granger was unusual for a six year old girl. Yes, she was a girlie girl, who was already interested in wearing makeup, and disliked bugs and getting dirty, just like most other girls her age. But she was _different_. It was difficult to describe with words. Nobody who met her knew what to think of her; they either ended up being impressed by her, intrigued or incredibly wary. She had her mother's book smarts and logical mind, while the rest of her was a product of her upbringing; she practically worshipped Fleur Delacour-Weasley and her daughter, Victoire.

She wished her grandmother was a Veela too.

Émilie was sitting in her bedroom on the upper levels of the Helaine Manor (named after her mother's favourite aunt, who had died shortly before she found out she was a witch). The Manor resided on an old wizard estate in southern France which had gone by many names over the last century as it quickly changed hands: it was currently named White Owl Estate. The Manor was also referred to as Helaine Le Chateau. It was all very nineteenth century high society. Émilie lapped it up.

She loved the estate and the freedom and beauty of the extensive grounds, but she wasn't the rough and tumble type – she preferred the "look, don't touch" approach.

She looked down, remembering in all her musings that she was writing a letter to her best friend, Victoire Weasley. She often teased her about the last name, telling Victoire she'd rather be a Potter than a Weasley. She supposed she got her general dislike of anything Weasley from her mother. Not that Émilie thought lowly of Ginerva Weasley… sorry, Potter. She liked Ginny very much, and that crazy brother of hers George, not to mention her father. They were always so accepting of her, despite the strange looks she got from the others.

Émilie knew she was weird, despite initial appearances; it didn't bother her.

Her letter was slow going, knowing that in about an hour, she'd be seeing her oldest friend anyway. Victoire was older than her, at eight years, while Émilie was on a precipice: tomorrow was going to be her sixth birthday. She couldn't wait for the guests, the presents, the hugs and congratulations. But most of all, she couldn't wait for the surprise her mother had planned that she'd already figured out.

She was going to her very first professional Quidditch match, ever.

There was no sport quite like Quidditch in the whole world, and no matter what her Uncle Harry said or did, she couldn't get into the Muggle versions. If there was one thing she liked that was even remotely tomboyish, it was jumping up and down and cheering at Quidditch games. Though it wasn't, really. She'd been to a few games, but those were community games for people who weren't good enough to be on the professional games.

Émilie returned to her letter, remembering to put the date: 23rd of September, 2007, at the top: the day before her birthday. She double checked the time. Yes, it was still before midnight. She was supposed to be in bed, but knew that the Potters were coming in late tonight, so didn't feel remotely tired. They would be joining them when they travelled to the pitch in Quiberon, which was probably all ready by now. Knowing about the game had made her too excited to sleep, to think, to _care_ about her other presents. But she needed to pretend to be surprised, lest her mother discover she'd realised what was going to happen.

"Émilie! Are you still awake?"

Nothing got by her mother. Well, _almost_ nothing.

Émilie hid her letter as Hermione Jean Granger opened the door to her daughter's room. They looked nothing alike. Émilie had long blonde, almost golden hair, that was straight and glistened; she never had trouble maintaining it and loved wearing it down. Her eyes were pale blue, almost grey, and more often than not, very intense. Hermione on the other hand, still had the same coloured brown hair from her Hogwarts days, but at least it was manageable now, with stylish ringlets instead of the bushy curls she'd often been teased for. Her eyes were brown, and overly serious, even when she wasn't trying to be. Harry Potter had jokingly told her the light had gone out of her eyes the moment she'd found out she was pregnant.

Yeah, maybe. But that was because she'd known the only person that could've been the father was Draco Malfoy. And apparently, he'd gotten married the day after their one night stand. She was left alone with Émilie, so what had Harry expected would happen?

Hermione pretended to be cross with Émilie, as she wasn't, not really.

"Well, since you're up, you can do some chores–"

"_Mère_!" The little girl said, her voice rising a few octaves in fright.

She hated doing housework. Luckily for her, they had a fulltime maid, butler, nanny… She had wanted a house-elf, but Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

"Don't you _mère_ me," Hermione scolded, proud as always that her daughter reverted to speaking French when emotional: _mère_ meant 'mother'. "You went to bed two hours ago. What are you doing awake?"

"Writing my memoirs," Émilie said softly, hanging her head.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her daughter loved to use euphemisms, especially made up ones, and trying to confuse people as to her meaning. But the longer one spent in her company, the more they could see the rhyme behind her apparently chaotic linguistic skills. She was far too smart for an 'almost six year old', and definitely smarter than Hermione had been at her age.

"Well come on then," she said, holding out her hand and smiling as her daughter took it eagerly.

"Uncle Harry is here already?"

"He will be in a few minutes."

Émilie grinned happily. She loved her Uncle Harry. He was the only adult that never lied to her, and he was the reason she knew who her father was. Hermione had been angry with Harry for that, but at his sheepish face, she quickly forgave him. It wasn't like he was announcing it to the entire Wizarding world, just to the one person who most deserved to know. Émilie listened attentively every time Harry would tell her what a git Draco Malfoy was, and giggle when her mother told him off for it. A part of her didn't care if her father was the worst person in the world, as long as she knew where she came from.

But the rest of her felt saddened; not having him in her life left her feeling lonely sometimes. She had Harry, she had George, and Mr Weasley was always doting when she saw him; but it wasn't the same. Victoire always told her how amazing _her_ father was. It made her jealous.

Émilie didn't like using the Floo Network. It was dusty and always left people looking dishevelled. She wondered briefly if that was why robes were invented. Glancing at the clock, she waited eagerly for the Potter family to step out of the magical fire in the main sitting room. There were three chimneys in this manor (larger than a house and smaller than a mansion, Hermione had not wanted a place that left her with an empty feeling), but this was the only grate that was connected to the Potter household.

The second chimney was in her mother's boudoir (and Émilie wondered what she could possibly want one in her _bedroom_ for), and the third was in the guest house. It wasn't connected anymore, and hadn't been for years.

Harry Potter was the first one through, his smile lighting up Émilie's face. He dusted himself off before hugging her, knowing how much she disliked being dirty; a second later, his wife joined them. Next came young James; his mere presence brought a sneer to Émilie's face. She didn't do that often outside of him and his antics. He was a seven year old bundle of energy that didn't have the time or inclination for being proper.

He grinned maniacally at Émilie. He may look like his father, but acted more like a buffoon.

"Hello there my rosette," he said condescendingly.

"Rosette" was his nickname for her, and he thought she liked it because her nanny had the same name. Her name was actually Rosalie, and she was a Muggleborn witch who had no family left. Émilie considered her family however.

Ginny shoved her eldest son out of the way gently as their last visitor came through.

Victoire Weasley didn't much care for travelling by Floo either, and currently looked like a silk mummy, having wrapped her silver robes as much as she could to fend off the soot and dust. It wasn't too bad though, as Émilie's dislike of it gave Hermione more than enough reason to keep up with the maintenance on it.

Victoire's mother was currently looking after Ginny's youngest, Albus and had declined from accompanying them either way. She wasn't much of a Quidditch fan these days and had her mother's family coming over in the next couple of days anyway. She didn't want to be in Quiberon and surrounded by squealing sports fans instead of properly greeting her mother.

Victoire had gotten a free pass because this was about Émilie's birthday.

"_Bonjour_ Émilie," Victoire said, in her thick French accent. "And 'ow are you?"

Officially, she still lived in Shell Cottage, in Great Britain, but spent enough time in France that she had still managed to pick up the accent. And once she got a hold of it, she refused to let it go. She was a miniature version of her mother.

"_Très bien, merci_," Émilie said courteously, as Victoire began to unwrap herself. **[A/N: "****très bien, merci****"**** means ****"very well, thank you"]**

James rolled his eyes. "You two are so–"

He broke off at the stern look his mother was giving him. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and stuck his hands in his pockets. They were all (except for Émilie and Victoire) wearing casual Muggle clothes under their robes.

"Well now that that storm has been avoided," Hermione said cheekily, "why don't I show you all where you'll be sleeping tonight?"

"_Mère_," Émilie scolded her. "That is what we have _servants_ for!"

"Stop acting like your father," Ginny said cheekily, and the blonde blushed at the reference.

James, as clueless as ever, just stared at them, his mouth agape.

Hermione decided to pretend that hadn't happened. She led the way to the guest house and thought that Ginny's insistence on accompanying them to this particular match, over all the other ones around the world they could've gone to. This alone was suspicious enough, but to blatantly mention Draco in front of Émilie, let alone James, even if not by name? For years, Harry had pestered her periodically about returning to England, but Ginny hadn't said anything since Émilie's birth. So why now?

The red head was definitely up to something.

… …

… …

'_I don't care anymore.'_

Draco Malfoy rolled over on his bed, onto his side and stared out the window. For awhile now, he'd known he would never be the man he had wanted to be, the husband, the father, the respectable Malfoy heir. Astoria Greengrass had seen to that. She'd been having an affair with Marcus Flint for years; the former Slytherin Quidditch captain was the one who had fathered Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.

Correction: Scorpius Hyperion _Greengrass_.

The little boy that Draco had learnt to love and was looking forward to raising with his wife wasn't a _Malfoy_. His lawyers had already cleaned up that mess and rid Draco of having to pay Astoria a single Knut. But he was heartbroken, a shell of his former self, a hollow wizard with nothing left inside. He didn't know what to do with himself now: should he just announce that his relatives were getting Malfoy Manor and inheriting the wealth and power that was rightfully his? There was nothing left in his mind except the choice to just give up.

He felt betrayed, by his now former wife, his former friend, his parents, and the world. Back when Harry Potter had killed Voldemort, the world had celebrated for what felt like years. But behind the cheerful smiles and infractions of the secrecy act when it came to exposing magic to Muggles, the purebloods were not so happy. Well, the sycophants who were either Death Eaters or Death Eater wannabes, anyway. Their reaction was mixed, from fear to anger and confusion. They were rounded up with no mercy and the acting minister for magic (who was later given the position with no contest), Kingsley Shacklebolt, "cleaned house", as the Muggle expression went.

Draco rolled over again, now staring at his ceiling.

He was back in Malfoy Manor, a place he had grown to abhor over the years, and living with his parents. He was looking into apartments, but it was slow going. The traditional families never _rent_ their homes, always buying what they needed outright, which was why he couldn't just obliviate some Muggle real estate agent and move out of the manor tomorrow. It wasn't "proper".

'_Proper?'_

He scoffed at that. What did it matter anymore? His divorce was finalized, he was alone, unloved and without an heir. Though he knew that any minute now, his mother would be knocking on his door, looking to talk with him about that. Couldn't the woman take a hint, and just leave him alone to his miserable existence?

Draco sighed when his mother did indeed rap her knuckles on his door a few minutes later.

Apparently _not_.

"Coming mother," he managed stiffly and waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade into the distance before climbing out of bed.

It was no longer early in the morning, and he'd missed breakfast, so resigning himself to brunch and useless chatter with his parents over his future, he changed his clothes. Having lain on his back, musing over the miserable tatters that was left of his life for over an hour, he realised he _needed_ to put on something more casual. Wearing casual clothes was not a Malfoy thing, heck, if he'd ever considered wearing a pair of jeans and polo shirt around the estate while growing up, he'd have been hexed so bad that if he even _thought_ of doing it again, it would still _hurt_.

But he was an adult now, dammit! And ever since Potter's interference when it came to the sentencing of the Malfoy family, the Malfoy fortune had been his and not his father's. Lucius Malfoy was living off of it sure, but it wasn't _his_ anymore. Every time he needed something, outside of the bare necessities that were provided for him, he needed to come to his son for it. Needless to say, the old man's pride had caused him to fall into disrepair in many ways.

Dressed in Muggle clothes (okay, so he did it to torment his pathological father more than anything), Draco entered the open sunroom, his expression and demeanour anything but "sunny".

"Draco dear," Narcissa said in a sing song voice. "Why must you insist on looking like a common Muggle?"

He shrugged as he took the offered seat next to her. "Seems appropriate, considering I'm going to be _common_ myself, very soon. The feel of it takes some getting used to, but I think it brings out the blue in my eyes."

He said all this evenly, bored of the conversation before his mother had even spoken. His eyes were actually a steel grey, but had been mistaken for a shade of blue so many times he'd lost count. In all his years at Hogwarts, girls would swoon and tell him how they "got lost in his eyes", which was appropriate considering he thought they looked more like the colour of a grey storm.

Narcissa shook her head at him. "We'll have you married again in no time, dear."

He scoffed. That wouldn't change a thing.

"Well that settles it," Lucius said, with the same air of indifference Draco had just expressed, "we need to find another pureblood for you–"

"There are none," Draco said quickly.

"Of course there are, you're just not looking hard enough."

Draco sighed deeply, feigning boredom now, as his obvious disinterest wasn't shutting them up.

"No there isn't," he said, "and why would I bother? They're all taken, or agreeing with the abolishment of that pureblood law being pushed through the system by that nit wit of a git, Potter."

"All the more reason to prove him wrong and find someone who still believes in the purity of magical blood. It _has_ to matter to someone other than us, surely."

Draco let a trace of sarcasm enter his voice. "I could always marry a foreigner."

Lucius looked murderous. "You will do no such thing! Think of the Malfoy name!"

"There are no purebloods left Lucius dear," Narcissa reminded her husband patiently. "Perhaps a half blood if we aren't willing to go abroad."

In a very undignified way, and certainly unbecoming of a pureblood Malfoy, Lucius actually snorted. "Nonsense, that's worse than a foreigner."

Draco honestly didn't care. He hadn't cared about all that sanctimonious pureblood bullshit since the war ended. It was nothing but vile propaganda and look where it had got them.

"Many of the purebloods and all the half bloods are behind Potter anyway," he said. This conversation was just another reminder of how he had wasted the last six years being married to that _witch_ of a woman.

Lucius growled now. "Let's not let that _boy_ dictate this conversation, shall we."

Oh that was rich, considering everything that _boy_ had done for the Malfoy family. Draco stood up, angry and worried what he might say or do if he didn't leave right now.

"Yes," he snarled, "let's not let the reason you're not in Azkaban ever be spoken of again."

And with that, he stormed out and headed straight for his room again. Before either of his parents had recovered from this recent insult on them, he had his bag packed and was Disapparating, glad to leave that hell hole of a place behind.

He headed for the same place he always went when angry at his parents. He'd said worse things to them over the course of the last month since his divorce and they had yet to follow him here. They considered the Zabini family blood traitors since they were helping Potter in his "crusade", painting them in the same light as they had always done to the Weasley family. Apparently, there were a _lot_ of blood traitors these days. But Blaise had informed Draco years ago he was actually a half blood, which made his parents' treatment of him only worsen.

It would be safe to say that Blaise and Pansy Zabini were his best friends in the whole world. And while he rarely agreed with a lot of what Pansy said was good for him, he would do anything for them. They apparently, were waiting for him, sitting in their living room, and holding drinks in their hands, unsurprised by his entrance.

Perhaps he was coming here _too_ much.

But after taking a better look at them Draco realised they were planning on heading out. They were dressed for the outdoors, and on his arrival, a knowing grin spread over Blaise's dark features. He was planning something, he knew it.

"Oh _there_ you are!" Pansy said melodramatically, and winked at him. "Planning on staying over again?"

She stood up, placed her drink down on the nearest flat surface, and walked over to him.

"Where are you guys headed?" He asked.

"France," she said. "My first professional Quidditch match in years."

"Have fun."

He dumped his bag on the Floor and tried to stalk over to their liquor cabinet. It was actually more like a miniature storage facility. But Pansy grabbed him, ignoring his yelp at her audacity.

"Oh no mate," Blaise said, also standing up. He finished his drink quickly before continuing. "You're coming with us."

They were starting to freak him out. Why were they waiting for him only to drag his ass to France?

"What are you two up to?"

They ignored his question.

"Oh and _look_!" Pansy squealed, as though all her dreams had suddenly materialised. "You're already dressed! What luck! You'll blend right in!"

"Blend? I don't want to blend! I just want to sulk and get drunk!" He snapped.

"Like we'd let you do that. We're you're best friends, you idiot," Blaise chortled, patting Draco on the back. "Don't you think you deserve some fresh air after being cooped up all this time?"

They weren't going to budge on this one, and Draco had the sneaky suspicion it wasn't Quidditch they had on their minds.

… …

… …

Where they landed was deserted (except for nearby booth being manned by a shabby wizard and a collection desk for used Portkeys), and Draco took a deep breath, looking out over the field, flashing back in his mind for some reason, to the world Quidditch Cup just before his fourth year at Hogwarts. He felt nostalgic and suddenly warm and excited. Quidditch did that to him. So he decided to throw his friends a bone and didn't start berating them like he'd planned to. After paying the shabby wizard in the booth, (Draco's friends were a conniving lot, having planned for three tickets in advance) Blaise led the way and Pansy linked her arms with the platinum blonde, as though afraid he might just decide to apparate away.

They were just in time for an early lunch. Clearly, Blaise knew where he was going, and Draco was content to just trail behind him, especially once they found the first campsite and his friend just kept on going. The campsites were just in case of course, as there was no telling how long this game would go on for, like any other match. The sites closer to the pitch were the only ones "reserved". This wasn't as big a deal as a world cup, so it wasn't as packed, but the platinum blonde was starting to feel uncomfortable with the amount of people he could see everywhere.

'_When did I become antisocial?'_

Stupid question.

Pansy was prattling on about her weekly morning discussions with an old Hogwarts enemy turned acquaintance, and now dear friend. The world really had changed. Draco would never have imagined he was hearing about his best friend getting along with the wife of Harry Potter.

"And here we are," she said excitedly as Blaise stopped directly in front of them, having found their site. The small sign in the middle of the empty patch read "Zabini".

"Is this a simple professional Quidditch match or a surprise world cup?"

The voice startled Draco, and he spun around. It was Ginny Potter. She was wearing a cheeky grin and looking him up and down. Pansy greeted her friend enthusiastically as Blaise ignored them, setting up the tent with a grumble.

Behind the most envied woman in all of Great Britain (for marrying the "chosen one" he supposed), were five more people, three of them children. Draco noticed Hermione Granger immediately. She stood rigidly, as surprised to see him as he was to be here, holding tightly to the hand of a young girl. Ignoring Potter, his oldest brat and that girl he had a sneaking suspicion was part Veela, Draco stared at the blonde girl looking at him with a mixed expression of wonder and nonchalance.

'_Weird combination.'_

She looked familiar…

Pansy pulled away from Ginny. "Oh yes, you guys remember Draco, right? Blaise and I decided to drag him along with us, I hope you don't mind. He's been a right old pain in my arse and needs to get out of his house more."

She glanced at Hermione. "What with the ugly divorce and all."

'_Conniving bitch,'_ Draco thought, staring at his friend with barely contained frustration.

She gave him an "I love you too" look and he chanced a glance at a still silent Hermione: she looked shell shocked.

"Okay your majesty," Blaise said irritably. "The tent is up."

"You look like Émilie," James Potter said suddenly, scrutinising Draco. "Who are you?"

He ignored his question. "Who's Émilie?"

Harry gave a particularly loud snort and looked away the next second, abashed. Curiously, Draco looked to where James was pointing. He indicated to the girl holding Hermione's hand. Brown eyes met blue/grey as his gaze inevitably fell on Hermione. She had the same sleek, yet nicely curved body he remembered from six years ago, the Muggle jeans, and shirt _very_ flattering to her figure. She swallowed heavily.

Draco Malfoy was still _hot_. She had eyes, and she wouldn't deny that fact. He was divorced now? Was Pansy telling the truth? He couldn't be single, who in their right mind would let go of _that_?

'_Snap out of it,' _she told herself.

"You're set up next to us," Blaise said to Harry unnecessarily, "want to join us for an early lunch?"

Despite his reservations about Malfoy, Harry liked Blaise. He nodded and followed the man to an open area where they could set up a barbeque of sorts. Draco continued to stare at Hermione, occasionally sparing glances for the girl who looked nothing like her. Who was she anyway?

"Hello to you too Draco," the brunette managed, after shaking off her shock.

He nodded. "Y-yes, hello Hermione."

"Come on people, it's time for food!" Pansy called, and they moved on command, realising they were the only ones still standing there like stunned mullets.

Hermione reluctantly trailed behind the group as contraband fireworks in the distance reminded her of the imminent Quidditch match. It wasn't just a normal professional game she'd brought her daughter to, but a Tournament Game: the deciding one. She clutched Émilie's hand tighter than necessary, in a fearful gesture as the blonde started to sing softly. But she knew better than to believe the blonde girl was oblivious to what was going on around her.

Draco caught Hermione's eyes as they sat next to each other in the chairs they'd summoned out of thin air. She held back the tremble at the gleam in his eyes. She'd seen that look on his face only once before: the night they conceived Émilie.

This was going to be a _very_ long Quidditch match.

X X X

**A/N: Yep, I know: another "Draco knocks up Hermione and then she flees the country" cliché! *le gasp!* Lol. But dammit, I love it anyway! ;P  
>Seriously though, Dramione kicks serious ass. It's the best Harry Potter pairing since… well, since the early days of Potter mania, when I was desperately hoping and praying that Harry and Ginny would get together in canon. :)<strong>

**When you give lots of love, love will give lots to you in return. ^_^**

**R&R.**


	2. The Courting of Hermione Jean Granger

**A/N: So, thank you to everyone who alerted and fav'd this, though if everyone who fav'd it actually reviewed… well, I'd have lost count on the reviews by now. Is that hint enough..? ;)  
><strong>**Anyway… Special thankyous will always go out to those who do review. Love you. *blows kisses***

**Oh, and because grown men wearing pink is well… gross, for the purpose of this fic, the French team, Quiberon Quafflepunchers, which J.K states wear pink robes as a part of their uniform, have magenta robes instead. *shivers* Not that it matters, or that I'll be mentioning it again, but I wanted it said.  
>Enjoy! ^_^ <strong>

…

– Part 2 –  
>.:. The Courting of Hermione Jean Granger .:.<p>

…

The sun was setting and the Quidditch pitch lit up, dazzling all those who happened to have their eyes open at that moment. The two opposing sides were the French team, Quiberon Quafflepunchers, and the Heidelberg Harriers, hailing from Germany. The annual Quidditch Tournament was almost like a free for all, where any top ranked professional Quidditch team could participate. The International matches always drew the most attention, and tonight was the final.

Hermione Granger held tightly to her daughter's hand, inwardly scowling as they followed Harry, Ginny and James Potter, Victoire Weasley, and Blaise and Pansy Zabini. Draco Malfoy however, was keeping annoyingly close to her and she was frustrated, watching the way he was interacting with Émilie. The little girl was giddy with happiness, and even bouncing softly. She never spoke improperly and always listened to her elders, rather than just doing what she wanted all the time, but she seemed to have come alive the moment Draco started paying attention to her.

And to make matters worse, over the course of the day, it had become increasingly obvious to Hermione that Ginny and Pansy had planned ahead of time and made sure she would be forced to spend an inordinate amount of time in the presence of one Draco Malfoy. The blonde had made no effort to hide his interest, staring at Hermione at every opportunity, his smirk only deepening when she told him to stop it. It made her heart flutter and she would catch Harry's twinkling green eyes. He didn't like Draco, and the feeling was mutual, but he seemed to find it funny that the man was practically leering at her. And despite what Ginny and Pansy had done, Hermione was more mad at the "chosen one" than she was anyone else.

She'd forgiven him for revealing to Émilie awhile back, who her father was, but today, he had been downright reckless.

–

_It was shortly after lunch, and Harry had thought he was alone with Hermione, and a sleeping Émilie, in the Potter tent. He went still after spilling out the words "don't you think Malfoy has the right to know that Émilie is his?" and his eyes darted to the opening of the tent, where Draco Malfoy had just entered unannounced, like the ponce he was. Harry gasped out an "oh" and hurriedly looked elsewhere as Hermione noticed their uninvited guest._

_There was no room for doubt about what Potter had said, but Draco was finding it hard to understand, let alone process this information. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he'd had to have realised that it was true. Despite her aloof manner, Émilie was an intriguingly forward child. She had been using any excuse to talk to him today, and now he knew why. Draco swallowed heavily. The look on Potter's face was one of deep shock. He lowered his eyes in shame as Hermione, sitting on a couch, gripped the sleeping girl next to her tighter. _

_Draco just continued to stare at Harry, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. What in the name of Merlin?_

"_Mother?"_

_Hermione looked down as Émilie Rose stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She rubbed her eyes and looked up at her mother's pained face. _

_Hermione hadn't wanted Draco to find out about Émilie, even though she knew he had a right to know. He had his wife (now ex-wife) and son, and would probably marry again to some other pureblood and produce more offspring. All awhile, Hermione was raising their daughter, knowing that the high and mighty Malfoy heir would either take Émilie away from her or pretend she didn't exist if he ever found out. Émilie wasn't pureblood, and her mother was Muggleborn. There was no reason to believe Draco would even acknowledge her, right? _

_But then why would he sleep with someone he considered a mudblood, in the first place?_

_Waking up the next morning after their time together, Hermione's head had been ablaze, her hangover clouding her mind. She couldn't remember what had happened, or how she'd ended up naked in her bed (she never went to bed naked if alone) and smelling of sex. Sure, that was a hint, but the blur on her memory made her doubt it, despite the intoxicating aroma. Once she'd taken her sobering potion, and remembered who her one night stand had been, she found herself overwhelmed by the intensity of that night in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she was bombarded by flashes; in all his nakedness, the Draco in her memory was intense, but sexually thoughtful, unlike Ronald Weasley. He had come onto her, and even though Hermione knew that Draco had quite literally taken advantage of her, she didn't regret getting drunk that night and sleeping with him. It had given her a daughter, and there was no way she would ever regret having Émilie._

"_Mother?" Émilie repeated, now concerned. "Are you in pain?"_

_Of course, she would be so proper and calm about the obvious distress on her mother's face. The slight French accent that Hermione always found adorable in her voice now shone like a beacon, drawing Draco's attention. The silence in the room was broken, and the Malfoy heir decided to shatter it completely._

"_That's not possible…"_

_He couldn't see past the accent. It had hidden the truth from him perhaps, even though his eyes could see the resemblance to him. Draco had heard the girl's voice and all strange thoughts that she looked familiar were overwhelmed with doubt... again. But it was still there, niggling at him and he felt his heart lurch uncontrollably into his throat. _

_Émilie sat up and looked between her mother and father, worried. She didn't bother smoothing over her dress and squirmed, suddenly feeling awkward. _

_Blaise, Pansy, and Ginny returned in that moment, with Victoire and James; the latter came running in and threw himself into his father's arms, rather noisily. _

–

While Hermione fussed and worried about the day's events, Draco was positively beaming at the outcome: difficult to hide behind with his trademark Malfoy indifference, it was however, obvious to both Pansy and Blaise. They hadn't overheard what he overheard, but from knowing that he'd spent his stag night drinking and then leaving his friends behind to go sleep with the Gryffindor princess, and seeing how much Émilie looked like him… well, they'd clearly put two and two together. No-one was saying it, but everyone was thinking it.

They reached the stands, and started climbing, making their way higher and higher. The tickets seemed to be almost as good as the ones they'd had at the World Cup all those years ago. Victoire sat on the other side of Émilie and before Hermione could stop him, Draco sat on _her_ right. Pansy and Blaise took the seats to Draco's right, while the Potters organised themselves to Victoire's left. Hermione didn't bother to hide the annoyance on her face, and Draco leant in to whisper in her ear.

"You can't avoid me forever."

Hermione couldn't concentrate on the game. She wanted to run away, to hide herself and Émilie, and pretend none of this had happened. But her daughter was so happy, and it was terrifying to think of what she would have to tell her if she suddenly wanted to leave. And if there was one thing Hermione wasn't, it was a coward. Then there was Draco, who was sitting so close to her that she was surprised he wasn't trying to snog her.

After the mascots were done showing off, and the match was in full swing, Hermione finally started to relax. Émilie was cheering loudly, with her best friend, and Draco would occasionally chuckle. He didn't try to sneak glances at Hermione or Émilie, just enjoying the game, so she decided to do the same thing.

The match lasted well into the night, and Émilie was about to fall asleep, despite the noises, when the Seeker for the Heidelberg Harriers caught the snitch, winning the game for Germany, 410-250. The thunderous applause that followed prevented her from drifting off and there were only two people in the stands not giving their full attention to the celebration.

At some point in the match, Hermione had turned to look at Draco, catching his eye and smiling slightly. Ever since then, he'd taken her hand in his and squeezed it, refusing to let go. It was this display of affection that made her head spin, and she blushed, tearing her attention away from those stormy grey eyes, to watch the victory dance of the winning team.

"Achim! Achim! Achim! Achim! Achim!"

The mantra continued, as the Seeker was the centre of attention right now, and Hermione couldn't help herself: she turned to look at Draco again. He leant in and kissed her softly, breaking his lips away much faster than she would've liked. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could hardly believe her eyes. She tried to say something, thinking this was a little too forward, even for him, but he interrupted her thoughts.

"We'll talk later," he said, and returned his attention to the pitch as the celebration continued.

… …

… …

They went back to their separate tents to sleep off their exhaustion, but after only ten minutes of tossing and turning, Hermione found she couldn't sleep. She wrapped a set of robes around her body and stepped out of the tent, intending on taking a midnight stroll. But instead, she found Draco star gazing and wondered at this for a moment before interrupting him. He was still wearing his Muggle clothes, under a robe he'd had in his bag and clearly hadn't even gone to bed yet.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She asked cheekily, sitting down next to him on the grass. He gave her a puzzled look, and she giggled. "What's on your mind?"

"Émilie."

This sobered her. And for the first time since he'd arrived at their campsite yesterday (it was after midnight now), Hermione felt guilty. She hung her head and fiddled with her fingers. Realising this, he took her hands in his and squeezed them gently.

"I was thinking about how much she looks like my mother," he said, "not to mention me. I shouldn't have left you that night."

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, "I should have found a way to tell you, and I should've–"

"You have no reason to feel guilty."

"But I _do_," she insisted.

"Why?"

"The Quidditch match."

"Huh?"

She stared into his eyes, allowing her own to fill with tears. "It was for her birthday," she said.

It was after midnight, and she had only just told him. He'd spent the day with his daughter on her birthday and he hadn't even realised. _Gods_, the aching in her heart was burning! She should've told him! She should've let him wish her a happy birthday and she should've–

He cut off her thoughts, pressing their mouths together. Again, she thought this was a little too forward, and again, she enjoyed it too much to care. After all, it wasn't like he was going to jump her right there and then… right? She parted her lips, letting him in, and moaned softly as he started to caress the side of her face; his right hand found its way to her waist. But despite her sudden desire to have his hands wander to more private parts of her body, she had to pull away. She couldn't let him confuse her senses like this.

Hermione knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

She took a deep breath after having successfully broken the kiss. "Are you trying to seduce me Mr Malfoy?"

He smiled. "And if I say 'yes'?"

"Well, then I'd be forced to hex you, of course," she said, trying to sound serious.

He pulled her in closer, testing the waters, and she didn't push him away. He wasn't sure how he felt about her, anymore than she thought she was in love with him, but there was _something_ there. He wanted to try to find out exactly what it was. Perhaps this was just the beginning of falling in love. He didn't know; he had never loved Astoria, and now there was only a dark hatred in his heart for the woman.

The only problem he could see was that Hermione lived in France, and _not_ England. She had a life here, and he didn't even know what she did for a living. It might not be something she'd be willing to give up. But they weren't Muggles; they didn't need hours on a steal contraption, flying through the air to see each other at a moment's notice. Draco worried Hermione would make this logical argument for staying in France and _never_ going back to London. He didn't know her as well as say, Potter did, but he had at least known her long enough to guess what she'd say if he tried to get her to follow him home.

They were both musing on their predicament, but it was Hermione who broke the comfortable silence.

"You do look different in jeans and a polo shirt. Is this some kind of statement?"

He smirked. "It pissed off my parents."

"Always a good thing."

She shivered suddenly.

"Cold?"

She nodded. "I suppose I'd better get some sleep." She stood up and he hurried to his feet as she dusted the grass off her bottom. "Good night Draco."

He wanted to join her, but abstained from teasing her on that front and kissed her goodnight, hoping that once they left Quiberon, he'd get the chance to re-enact the best night of his life.

… …

… …

The next morning saw a hustle and bustle as the occupants of the Potter and Zabini tents packed everything up and away. Amongst the disorderly display, Draco had sought Émilie out, promising to buy her a belated birthday present. She practically sung as he told her: she was so happy, and it was contagious.

Then, he lost his chance to speak to Hermione alone, even when they all sat down for an early, outdoor, breakfast barbeque (which, despite opinions to the contrary, was an entirely _Muggle_ thing to do). She was sitting next to the Weaslette-turned-Potter, and listening as Ginny talked about her most recent "project". Very quickly after the war, she and Hermione had established themselves as philanthropists in England, along with Harry and Ron. The Golden Trio and Ginny Weasley… didn't exactly roll off the tongue. None of them returned to Hogwarts, receiving special passes for their participation in the war – there were others who also decided against returning, therefore receiving the same pass. It was an honorary N.E.W.T.

Draco had gone back to Hogwarts for half a semester before leaving. He hadn't been bullied or anything, but everyone, even the other Slytherins, gave him a wide berth, and he'd never felt so alone in his life. Well, perhaps except for when Voldemort had set up residence in Malfoy Manor and his father was off on some "mission" while his mother was forced to join in with some of the other Death Eater wives in their "outings". He never did find out what they'd been doing.

But at least back in Hogwarts, no-one had been looking to ambush him and possibly earn themselves a punching bag while neither of his parents were at home.

Still, he'd decided to leave after realising he could take over the family business without completing his N.E. . He wasn't eligible for the honorary versions the Golden Trio and others who fought against Voldemort had been given. It stung for awhile, but he had long since stopped caring about things he couldn't change. Perhaps what he'd really done was close off his heart.

Hermione's smile and laughter drew his stare back to her as he realised his eyes had wandered. Émilie sat next to him and started to talk about how she missed her nanny, Rosalie, and once they got home, she wanted to introduce him to her. She stopped talking as James stood up, walked over to her, and then leant in to speak to her.

"Wrackspurt stole your brain?"

She shook her head and he sat down next to her. Victoire, who had been on the chair to her left, moved her chair to accommodate him.

"He looks like you," James whispered to Émilie, ignoring the indignant glares coming from the part Veela on his left.

Émilie wondered for a moment whether or not to tell him, but she found herself suddenly wanting to scream "father!" and hug Draco Malfoy. She was trying not to jump up from her chair, thinking about his promise to shop at Paris for her birthday present, and instead fidgeted, bouncing softly. She couldn't keep her excitement to herself as she whispered back to James.

"He's my _père_."

James' eyes widened and he hummed softly, staring blatantly at Draco Malfoy. The strange blonde man was Émilie's daddy! He bobbed softly in the fold out chair, grinning when the blonde man noticed his stare. He ignored the man's scowls, but stopped humming.

"Come on James," Ginny called him over and he winked at Émilie before doing as he was told.

Blaise and Harry packed up the barbeque, while Draco pointedly ignored their complaints that he hadn't helped with _anything_. He didn't care. Émilie took his hand as they made their way toward the Portkey desk and Pansy was asking Hermione if she didn't mind that they used her Floo to get home.

"Oh of course," Hermione said dismissively, "you're welcome to."

So as a group, all nine of them took an old tire from the keeper of the Portkeys and landed half a mile from White Owl Estate (and in the exact same spot Hermione, Émilie, Victoire and the Potters had taken a Portkey in the shape of a gumboot to get to the campsite in the first place). Hermione was nervous about bringing Draco into her home, but kept her concerns to herself as she let Pansy lock arms with her. She glanced back to see that Émilie was monopolising her father and smiled at the sight before turning back.

White Owl Estate loomed on the horizon, and Émilie broke into a run, chasing James after letting go of Draco's hand. Hermione thought for a moment it was all in good fun, but then realised a moment later that James had goaded her again, when Ginny yelled out at him angrily.

"Spit fire that one," Pansy noted, as Hermione adjusted the wards to her home to allow her guests entrance.

James hadn't been able to get in, so when Émilie caught up with him, she had started to strangle him, albeit not in a fatal move. Ginny pried them apart as Hermione laughed and Harry did his best to look annoyed, though chuckling on the inside.

"She bottles up her fury and indignation," Hermione told Pansy as they finally approached Helaine Manor (also known as Helaine Le Chateau), and she had to adjust the wards again. "And she saves it all for James."

"They do look cute together," the black haired woman noted again.

"Harry's told James if he likes her, he needs to be respectful," Ginny told them, "but it didn't work."

Victoire watched placidly as they all filed into the foyer. "And 'ee is a bad influence I zink."

"Obviously," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "He's a _Potter_."

Hermione shook her head at him as Harry retorted, and opened the doors to the parlour, where the butler, Abélard, would normally have brought visitors, were he even here. He was a half-blood wizard, an old man who needed the money more than anything, but due to some unfortunate health problems, could only work part-time. She didn't mind, and secretively, she hadn't hired him expecting all that much.

"Must be the butler's day off," Ginny noted. "Okay, James, Victoire, make your goodbyes. It's time to go."

James whined. "Can't we stay for a few hours, run around in the paddock and play with the horses, and–"

"I do not play wiz ze 'orses," Victoire said indignantly. "Or run around."

He rolled his eyes. "Most boring kid _ever_!"

"Victoire's mother wishes her back immediately," Harry said, gripping his son's slouched shoulders. "And your mother and I have things to do. Next time, okay squirt?"

"Okay."

"Oh, that just ruined the moment," Blaise said, his deep voice reverberating and breaking the silence. "Come on, lighten up people."

He tapped Hermione on the shoulder. "May I have a word alone, before I go?"

She felt uneasy suddenly, but Harry liked Blaise, so she nodded in compliance, and stayed with him as the rest of the group moved into the main sitting room, where the fireplace waited. The Zabini's were outed as a half-blood family a number of years ago, which contributed to the sharp drop of their influence in pureblood society. They were now outcasts to that lot, which suited him just fine. He had grown to hate bigots.

Blaise made sure no-one was eavesdropping (why hadn't Harry done that?!), and turned to face Hermione. He cleared his throat.

"He's in love with you, you know. He just doesn't realise it yet."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. There was no doubt who he was talking about, but _what_ was he talking about?

"Come again?"

Blaise snorted softly. "Come off it Granger, you're smart, do the math. Draco's had some… _problems_ lately, and that Astoria _bitch_ well, let's just say she's going to hell when she finally kicks the bucket." He took a deep breath. "My point is, anyone with eyes can see Émilie is his, and that they get along. Pansy and I aren't taking him back to our place, not when he's finally found…"

He trailed off, realising he'd said too much. Granger didn't know that Scorpius Hyperion wasn't Draco's biological son, and he didn't want to piss off his best friend by telling her that, not to mention… other things. He shook himself.

"You think he won't go back to England without her?" Hermione asked, suddenly terrified.

"I _know_ he won't. He'll have to return at some point though, to allay any concerns from the Board of Trustees. Ever since his divorce, he hasn't been to work and Malfoy Industries has been in the hands of said trustees. But you're going to be stubborn, aren't you?"

She smirked sheepishly for a moment and he laughed.

"Well anyway," he said. "My point is, he still has a business to tend to eventually, and while you're debating the pros and cons on whether or not to come back to England with him, I want you to remember something. That arrogant man would give up every profit, every quarterly earnings, and even the Malfoy Manor to have Émilie in his life, not to mention the stunning Muggleborn who happens to be her mother."

Hermione blushed and Blaise hugged her. "Please don't make him wait forever, okay?"

They both knew her guilt over it would eventually win out. But she had a life here, in France too, and she wondered if Blaise had taken _that_ into consideration in his concerns for Draco's welfare.

"Quid pro quo," she said seriously. "It goes both ways."

Instead of looking furious that she wasn't listening to him, Blaise grinned. "Somehow, I _knew_ you were going to say that. Just think it over, that's all I ask, okay?"

She nodded.

"Oi! Get your butts in here!"

Draco's irate voice was a surprise. He wasn't leaving, was he? She felt a sudden surge of panic at this thought, but pushed it aside as she and Blaise entered the main sitting room. The platinum blonde looked at her quizzically, noticing her flushed cheeks. But he didn't say anything as Pansy hugged him goodbye and Blaise gave him a swift, calculating look. His friends had no intention of even attempting to drag him back to England, for which he was grateful.

Potter gave him a funny look and moved over to speak with Hermione as Ginny tightened the jacket around James's shoulders.

"Bye my rosette," the young boy said, and was surprised when Émilie hugged him.

"_Au revoir_, Jimmy."

He snarled at her. She hadn't called him that in awhile, and he didn't like it. Émilie and Victoire both giggled.

"Lover's tiff," Victoire said, making them both turn scarlet. She had learnt that term from her uncle George, who used it to explain why her parents argued. But she wasn't sure what it meant anymore than James or Émilie did. "_Au revoir_, Émilie," she kissed her cheek. "I will owl you in ze morning."

She finished wrapping her silver robes around herself, looking again like the mummy who had stepped out of there yesterday, to protect herself against the soot. James pouted.

"You're such a prissy bi–"

"James Sirius Potter, you clamp your mouth shut or I'll stick your tongue to the roof of your mouth, _permanently_," Ginny snapped, and he looked sheepish, a spitting image of his father.

Blaise chuckled. "Nothing like the threat of a Permanent Sticking Charm to pull him in line."

"We should go," Pansy said, hugging anyone goodbye who would let her before taking a handful of Floo powder from the container Hermione offered to her. "We'll catch up, okay?"

Hermione nodded, smiling. "Definitely."

The Zabini's disappeared and Draco turned to Hermione.

"I'm not leaving," he said, as thought thinking she would complain.

She wasn't going to, but didn't bother correcting him. Harry looked worried, though because of his slip up, decided it was in his own best interest not to say anything. Ginny however, didn't seem worried either way, considering she was partly responsible for these turn of events.

"Well," she said. "We should go too."

Victoire took the initiative and stepped through first. But instead of saying "Potter Estate", she went straight to Shell Cottage. Her mother and father were expecting her after all.

James sighed, relieved. "Thank Merlin she's _gone_!"

"Rude," Émilie said, taking her mother's hand. "Go home, you idiot."

"Well, you've certainly expanded your vocabulary," Draco noted.

"Oh, my rosette knows how to have fun," James said seriously. "But she's an ice queen, so you have to melt her first."

"And get her away from Victoire or her mother long enough to try," Ginny said cheekily, and her son cackled evilly.

"Goodbye," Émilie said, irritated.

James was forced to go first, and then Ginny followed close behind. As for Harry, he wasn't too sure about leaving while Draco was refusing to go. He didn't trust him. But after Hermione insisted huffily that she wasn't a child, and could handle the situation without him, he relented, and followed his family through the green flames of the Floo.

But the moment she was alone with Draco Malfoy, Hermione wasn't sure she was thinking rationally. He continued to stare at her as she avoided his eyes. Those stormy, hypnotic eyes…

… …

… …

Hermione didn't know what to do or say. Draco was just staring at her, so she summoned Rosalie, Émilie's nanny, and had her take her to her room and draw a bath. It was safe to say she needed to talk to him alone.

The silence between them only lasted a moment before Hermione remembered her manners and offered him something to drink. The liquor cabinet was stocked, so he checked it out as she sat down nervously on the couch in front of the now charcoal fireplace. It had been lit to be used as a Floo of course, but she'd extinguished the flames while waiting for Rosalie. Hermione shook her head as Draco held a bottle of Firewhiskey up from the opposite side of the room. She didn't drink in the morning. So he found something called Scotch, which he assumed was a Muggle concoction, and joined her on the couch, not bothering with a glass.

After a few moments, he'd uncorked it, taken a mouthful, pulled a face, and then placed it on a side table. Hermione giggled at this and he smiled, taking a deep breath before letting it out.

"You must marry me," Draco said.

No shocker there.

Hermione just shook her head. "But I don't love you."

He shrugged. "Neither did Astoria, but I didn't let it bother me."

She groaned. "Well it would bother me."

He chuckled. "Not for long, I assure you."

She pouted. "And why is that?"

Draco reached out and grazed her shoulder, his fingers working slowly now, toward her neck. "I'll change your mind," he said, as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

"What happened between you and Astoria?"

He pulled his hand back. "She cheated on me," he said, sounding less annoyed by that than he really was. "Scorpius isn't mine."

Hermione's face fell slightly in sympathy. She wanted to say something comforting, but refrained as Draco continued, not looking her in the eye, "and to be honest, it still bothers me." He looked up now, his eyes intense but not hard. "But we won't be the same, don't you see? You're the mother of my only child, and neither of us will enter this marriage because someone is forcing us, so there won't be any bitter feelings."

"You tormented me for years at Hogwarts," she reminded him.

"I know," he said softly. "But you slept with me anyway."

"I was drunk, Malfoy."

"You mean you _got_ drunk."

"I was grieving the loss of my marriage to that idiot's stupidity."

Draco smirked slightly at this, trying to mentally picture what Ronald Weasley would think once he found out that the woman he let get away was going to become a Malfoy. Draco had already decided it was going to happen, his mother and father be damned. He refused to leave France without both Hermione and Émilie, and perhaps his persistence would win out. She claimed not to love him, but he was hoping to elicit a change of heart in her. She was all heart, after all. A bleeding heart, as the expression went. He never thought that would be something he could use to his advantage, until now.

And no matter what he told her, he also had no intention of entering another loveless marriage. Hermione was going to want him, and that was all there was to it. He could feel his stomach doing somersaults as she stared at him, like he was still some hormonal teenager. There was definitely something there, inside of him, and she was bringing it out. So _that_ was why he was so confident that he would win her over. It was inevitable. But she was a stubborn witch, and he needed to handle this situation with the utmost of care.

"You could do better than him," he said meaningfully.

Hermione shoved at him and stood up. "You can stay in the guest house for now. I'll have Catharine set it up for you."

Draco frowned as she whipped out her wand and cast another wordless spell, and he assumed it was the one she'd used to summon Rosalie. He couldn't tell what it was, but unlike last time, he felt suddenly wary, since nobody was responding to her call this time.

"Catharine?" He asked.

"The maid."

"A witch?" He asked, incredulous.

She glared at him. "No actually, she's a two headed Sphinx."

"Okay, stupid question; like Hermione Granger would _ever_ get a house-elf."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, I'll show you the way."

"Wait," he said, remembering that his travelling bag was still on the Floor. "It's still morning. I'm not going to be cooped up in a room right now."

"Oh? Regretting staying? Because you're welcome to leave anytime."

She was goading him, and testing him at the same time. She waited to see how he'd react, and he sighed a moment later. "Lead the way."

"I'll track down some clothes for you also," she said, "if you're going to take a shower right away."

"Do you do _everything_ yourself, Granger? I thought you were serious about claiming to be a witch."

'_Crap. That was stupid.'_

But Hermione ignored his jab, remaining silent until they entered the south wing and stopped at the door to the guest house.

"I don't get why you're even still here Malfoy," she said, turning to look at him. "What are you trying to prove?"

"You mean other than the fact that you should come back to England with me and get hitched?"

She nodded.

He sighed. "You think I don't care that Émilie is my daughter."

It wasn't a question.

"Scorpius may not be your flesh and blood," she said, as delicately as she could. "But I'm sure there are plenty of other pureblood women out there who wouldn't mind marrying you to give you a rightful heir. And Émilie's a half-blood," she said seriously. "That doesn't exactly scream _'Malfoy'_."

He looked uncomfortable. "It's a long story."

"Then by all means Draco," she said, "go have a shower. I'll wrangle the truth out of you later."

She gave him a slight smile as Catharine exited the chambers. The blonde was a Muggleborn witch, just like Hermione. She nodded to them both.

"It is ready," she said, and left hurriedly.

"Join me?" Draco asked hopefully, and she backhanded his arm. He chuckled. "Had to try."

He disappeared into the room to bathe and Hermione made her way back to her own room in a sort of daze. It was so surreal that Draco Malfoy was under her roof right now, and refusing to leave. Not only that, but by the time she reached her boudoir, she was sure he was naked as well.

… …

… …

Draco hadn't elaborated on his cryptic words, and for the next few weeks, Hermione tried to wrangle it out of him, like she'd promised she would. It was strange; she was trying to get information out of him, and he was trying to convince her to return to England with him. He suggested a trade, but this only infuriated her. It was few days before New Year's, and he found himself thinking again, on what she did for a living. He'd just come back via the Floo network, annoyed at the Board of Trustees and promising to fire them all if they tried to hassle him into returning again. They'd actually ganged up on him this time, but he was less concerned about share prices and real estate sales right now and more interested in his future wife.

As it turned out, Hermione Jean Granger had not given up her philanthropist lifestyle. Sure, she was paid to run a small company that answered to the French ministry of magic (VERY small company), but she also gave up her time to help out in an orphanage just outside the Muggle city of Béziers. She was in tight with the French Minister for Magic as well. It made him wonder if he had any chance of dragging her (politely of course) back to England after all.

She certainly seemed to enjoy his company, but he needed more than that. She wouldn't even let him share her bed… yet.

The little minx was more stubborn than he remembered. Something told him she was holding out until he gave in about his "secret". She didn't come right out and say she was doing this, and he figured she'd stop pushing him away eventually. He'd caught her resting on the couch in the main sitting room a few times and they made out. A few minutes in heaven they were not… she'd let him grope her for over an hour.

He sighed deeply at the memories.

Draco quickly discovered that Hermione wasn't home, and so went looking for Émilie. She had a private tutor for her homeschooling, but unlike her mother, wasn't antisocial, so she still spent a great deal of time with children, though outside the orphanage where her mother volunteered, it was admittedly only a few children – daughters of powerful families, considering Hermione was so well connected in France these days. Not to mention of course, her cousins – most notably Victoire Weasley.

In fact, the longer Draco stayed in Helaine Manor, the more he realised just how happy both Émilie and Hermione were here. This made him grate his teeth, but he didn't know what to do. He was starting to feel guilty about that, but he did have his own concerns as well. He needed to figure out how to make them all happy.

Absentmindedly, he found himself in the study room where Émilie normally had her lessons, but it was empty, bar for one person.

"_Monsieur_," Rosalie said, bowing slightly. "I am very sorry, did not know you were in 'ere."

"It's okay," Draco said, glancing at her. Now that he was alone with the woman, it finally occurred to ask her something he probably should've thought to ask the day he came here. "Are you a witch Rosalie?"

The woman was slightly startled, but recovered quickly. "Muggleborn witch monsieur," she said. "Lost my family at four, raised by a Wizarding family."

"At four years old?" Weren't there laws against that?

"_Oui monsieur_," she said. "It was my muzzer's cousin's family, you see, and zey were magical."

Draco nodded slowly. _'Interesting.'_

"Have you seen Émilie, Rosalie?"

The woman shook her head. "Émilie is away."

"You are not with her?"

"Oh no, _monsieur_, I am not invited to such zings."

Before he could ask "what things?" she curtsied once more and was gone. Sighing, Draco made for the library instead. He had been spending his time going back and forth between the paperwork he was still expected to do for Malfoy Industries and checking out the library in Helaine Manor. It was extensive, and easily rivalled the one in Malfoy Manor. Considering the rest of the Manor was small compared to Malfoy Manor, this was quite surprising. He could see why Hermione had bought it out. Every person who had ever lived here was probably a book worm.

Several hours later, a shriek caught Draco's attention, snapping him out of his thoughts. He'd been reading one of the many leather bound volumes that Hermione had only kept because of the fact that they were magically protected against duplication. She didn't like the usage of animal remains in such a way, which was a surprise to him, despite her past efforts on the behalf of magical creatures. She'd never had a problem with using parchments back in Hogwarts.

Draco left the book behind as he left the library and was surprised to find Émilie standing in the middle of the parlour, her fists clenched and stomping on a piece of parchment on the Floor like it had tried to hex her. She looked positively livid.

"_Ce bigot__stupide__!_" She screamed in French. **[A/N: "That stupid bigot!"]**

"Émilie, be calm!" Rosalie said, much like one would comment on the weather.

"_Je suis calme__!_" **[A/N: "I am calm!"]**

"No you are not."

"Émilie?" Draco said, coming into the room.

And without even looking at Rosalie, Émilie threw her arms around her father's waist. She was crying softly now, and startled by the crack in her usually calm exterior, Draco could only hold her as he looked questioningly at the nanny. The woman sighed.

"A young boy at ze party was rude to 'er."

"He's a pureblood _freak_," Émilie said, from somewhere around her father's midsection. "He told me I had a disease because my _mère_ wasn't clean like him."

Draco realised he'd forgotten that Émilie was attending a birthday party today, which explained why Rosalie had had to stay here. Then it occurred to him…

"Was this a boy's party?"

Émilie sniffed, and pulled away. "Of course not. That stupid boy is Mariette's little brother."

"So," he said, wiping at her tears, "nobody important, right?"

She smiled. "No, I suppose not."

"What's on the parchment?"

Émilie glanced at the torn and beaten parchment on the Floor and grinned wickedly. "It belongs to him. He had it with him and it has his stupid scribbling on it, so I took it."

"You 'ave been 'anging around James Potter too long," Rosalie sighed.

"He is a bad influence," Émilie agreed. "Father? May I speak with you alone?"

Rosalie curtsied and left them alone.

Émilie may not be the brat like James Potter clearly was, but she had her way every time nonetheless. Draco could see the Malfoy in the child's veins; she was so naturally poise and graceful in fact, that he often wondered _how_ she took after Hermione. She had the book smarts, but Draco wasn't stupid – he'd been a prefect and head boy during that ridiculous year where the Carrow siblings were wrecking havoc at Hogwarts. So _how_ exactly was she like her mother?

The answer came to him suddenly, like a Bludger hit to his head. She was a _bleeding heart_. How had he not noticed that? She genuinely wanted to forgive wrongs, love everyone, and make the world a better place. He pondered on this as she led him back the way he'd come and into the library.

'_Whatever will I do with you?'_

But truth be told, he was proud. She was more of a spit fire than she let on, using her mind to win battles and even though she had that typical Slytherin predisposition toward plotting and scheming, it went without saying that her inner Gryffindor would not allow said scheming to overrule her desire to care. She was too generous and open minded for that. Draco pushed those thoughts out of his head, not wanting to get emotional in front of his daughter.

"_Père_?" She asked, not paying attention to his obvious mental breakdown. "Are you well?"

He nodded. James Potter had told him that _père_ meant "father" in French. She been calling him father for months now, but he still found himself pleasantly nonplussed.

Growing up in the Malfoy manor, he'd learnt the piano, studied the history of purebloods, joined every club his mother wanted and immersed himself in the "respectable" pastimes that he was expected to as the Malfoy heir. But not once had he been told to learn another language. He knew his mother was fluent in the language, but she'd never taught him. He probably had his father to blame for that.

"I am fine," he said softly.

Émilie surveyed him. "You still want mother to go with you back to England?"

"I want you both to," he said, sitting down on the chaise longue he'd been comfortably reading on only minutes ago.

"_Mère_ is happy here," she stated, smiling at him. "This is our home and has been for my whole life."

"I know, but–"

"I heard you and mother speaking," she interrupted. "You have responsibilities in England you can no longer fulfil."

And again, Draco was both shocked and impressed by her. If appearances didn't indicate she was still a child, he'd have thought she was out of Hogwarts by now. It was the influence of Fleur Delacour-Weasley of course, for which he wasn't sure if he should thank her or strangle her. She'd been positively livid only moments ago, and seeing her like that reminded him of the way she reacted to James Potter whenever he came over; he was worried that she liked the boy, even though it would only be in an innocent, pre-pubescent way. Liking a Potter, in _any_ way seemed so disgusting a thought to him.

"Perhaps you could be happy here too," Émilie said, studying the end of her long strands of blonde hair, wondering if perhaps she needed another trim.

He smiled, uncertain what to say, and motioned to her. Émilie happily climbed onto his lap and he hugged her tightly. "Your mother is due back soon," he noticed, looking up at a clock.

Émilie nodded. "And I need your help."

"Huh?"

"I want to go to a party."

"Huh?"

She giggled. "It's a gala ball for New Year's Eve. Mother never goes, but the French Minister for Magic never fails to invite her." She smiled. "I want to go, I want to dance, but _mère_ doesn't like crowds."

"Really?"

"No, she's not a people person. She works all day, tends to orphaned children, but doesn't like high society. Will you talk to her?"

"Sure."

"Maybe you'll like the people," she said softly. "And French people are romantic, or so _mère_ tells me."

She didn't want him to leave France, and she wanted to stay. Having her father in her life was not something she was going to give up on now. She giggled slightly, taking Draco by surprise. Her light hearted tone better reflected her age.

But before he could respond, she whispered, "_je voudrais que vous restiez_." **[A/N: "****I would like you to stay"]**

She hugged him again, jumped up, and then ran from the room, leaving him confused.

'_I need to learn French.'_

And on cue, the sound of the Floo activating indicated the arrival of a certain Muggleborn witch and Draco sighed, dragging himself into the main sitting room where he had a feeling he was going to have to beg to make her go to this New Year's Ball.

… …

… …

Émilie was dressed in pink, her small gown decorated with a few flowers and ruffles and her long blonde hair hanging down, framing her excited face. She had pushed away the chances of having her hair coiled, preferring it straight, and standing outside the entrance to the parlour, she waited impatiently for her parents to join her. Her father arrived next, wearing a simple set of black dress robes – the kind that were made for high society events, reminding her that her uncle Harry had told her Malfoys were high society purebloods and wouldn't dress down to save their lives. But she'd seen him in casual wear and wondered why he did it.

"There you are," he said cheekily, and Émilie grinned back.

She looked up toward her mother's room. "Is she actually coming?"

"Of course I am."

Hermione had come from the library. "Don't ask," she said, as Draco cocked his eyebrow at her.

She was wearing a burgundy cheongsam; her high heeled sandals were black, like her purse, and her coiled hair was held up away from her face using chopsticks. She noticed the glazed look on Draco's face as he took in her dress and shook her head at him.

"Come on," she said, letting him take her arm as they left the manor, walking toward the apparition point located just beyond the blood wards she'd set up shortly after moving onto White Owl Estate. Wizards and witches alike didn't buy real estate with wards still in place, they had to be removed before the property could go on the open market, according to law.

Hermione knew where they were going, so took Draco and Émilie using side-along apparition. They landed in a spacious garden area, only ten feet from the front entrance to what was known simply as the Dance Hall. The French minister for magic rented it out every year for New Year's Ball and the rich and elite danced away the night, pausing only for the countdown to the new year. Draco looked around, impressed by the decorations as they entered, remembering the last high society event he'd attended hadn't had ice sculptures or dancing silver coloured fairies above the heads of those gliding along the ballroom.

The minister for magic came pelting toward them, and Émilie stood to attention. His youngest daughter, Bibi Josiane, was a good friend of hers. She spent many weekends with the spoilt little princess, loving the banter. They both seemed to lap it up.

"Oh dear, Miss Granger," he said, "I am so happy to finally see you here. And Émilie, looking as radiantly beautiful as your mother I see."

Émilie curtsied to him. "Minister."

"And who is this, accompanying you my ladies?"

Draco extended his hand and the minister shook it. "Draco Malfoy, minister."

The portly man's eyes widened. "Really?"

"You've heard of me?" Draco asked, trying to remember the last time Malfoy Industries would have had dealings with the French ministry.

"Oh yes. All that bother years ago with you-know-who was legendary of course. Though I do say, you seem so much more pleasant than I've been told."

Hermione chuckled. Émilie rolled her eyes. "Mère, père, minister," she curtsied.

"Stay where I can see you," Hermione said, as her daughter moved away, darting toward the buffet table.

"She'll be fine," Draco said. "You know there are wards around this hall, not to mention the fact that this is a high security event."

There were indeed ministry officials stationed at every entrance and exit, their wands always at the ready, just in case. She knew all too well how dedicated they were, and inwardly sighed. But Draco's calm demeanour was ruffling her feathers. The minister spotted someone else to harass and took off. Sighing with relief, Hermione turned on Draco.

"You just want me to relax so you can have your way with me."

Draco chuckled. "Later Granger, and somewhere not so public." He spun her around. "Now _dance_ with me."

It was a slow waltz, and he lowered his mouth to Hermione's ear.

"I know you only came because of me," he said cheekily, and Hermione blushed. Sure, the idea of dancing with Draco had been the deciding factor when he'd brought up the New Year's Ball with her. She hadn't seen him dance since the Yule Ball in their fourth year at Hogwarts.

As they moved, he started whispered his dirty thoughts into her ear, and it wasn't long before she couldn't take it anymore, grabbed his hand and half dragged him out a side door and into what looked like a billiard room. Draco magically locked the door and put up a silencing charm, but while they had the room to themselves, Hermione had other things in mind. She strode about until she found a liquor cabinet and he rolled his eyes at her.

"I tantalise you with sex talk and all you want to do is get drunk?"

"I'm not having sex with you in here," she snapped.

"So, when we get home?" He asked hopefully.

She turned bright red and sat down on the small sofa in the corner of the room. "Join me?"

He sat down next to her, but didn't share the bottle of Firewhiskey with her. He didn't really like it anyway, unless of course he was tasting it on her mouth. He just watched her drink, and when she had already drunk two thirds, he finally felt compelled to comment.

"Don't get me wrong Granger," Draco said cheekily, "I like the drunken version of you, but this is too déjà vu for me."

She pushed him roughly, and he caught her arm, chuckling.

"I'm not drunk you idiot," she snapped. "I'm also no light weight anymore either. I can hold my liquor very well now, thank you very much."

"Oh, so you don't need to have a few drinks to come onto me?"

She groaned. "If I remember correctly, it was you who came onto me, Malfoy."

"Yes, but you liked it."

She blushed profusely, turning her head away from him to take a sip of her Firewhiskey, but he caught the slight tinge in her skin. And he swiped the alcohol from her before it could even reach her lips.

"Hey!"

She made a swipe at him and he laughed, drinking the last of the draft in one go. Okay, so he'd drink it to tease her. It tasted better when she'd already put her lips to it. Hermione went to stand up, intending on getting more, but he grabbed her again, dropping the bottle to the Floor where it landed, unharmed. She tried to get free, but the man had an iron grip. He pulled her back down onto the couch, and as she let out a low yelp, he managed to get her on her back and climb on top of her. She stopped struggling, recognising the futility in it and not wanting to rip her dress. She looked up at him, taking in that slender, chiselled face and those _beautiful_ stormy eyes.

They were both thinking the same thing: it was the same concern as always, since that Tournament Quidditch match.

'_What now?'_

Draco brushed the hair out of her eyes. "I could learn to love you."

She wasn't so sure about that. "But I'm a mudblood, why would you bother?"

Annoyed, he climbed off of her and looked away from her. Surprised, she sat up, but didn't move away.

"Tell me what's been bothering you," she said softly. "I know there's more to this thing with Astoria than you've been saying. Please Draco, just tell me, I won't laugh or get mad, I promise."

He sighed deeply. The only people (that he knew of) that knew what he was about to tell her was himself, Pansy, Blaise and Astoria – considering it was her fault – and to some extent, a number of Healers. He swallowed heavily as Hermione grasped his hand and stroked his arm for good measure. During their make out sessions on her couch, she'd learnt that this was soothing to him.

Draco took a deep breath and let it out. "She poisoned me."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask how, but shut it quickly as he looked dreamily toward the billiard table.

"It was done in small amounts over time," he said, as though she wasn't even there. "I only know about it because of her temper: when she gets psychotically mad, she tends to let things slip in her anger. It's how I know about Scorpius…"

He looked down at his free hand. "She was always good with potions at Hogwarts, so she made a tonic of sorts that left me sterile. The Healers confirmed it when I went to check up on it, but I didn't tell them my ex-wife had done it."

"How?"

"Digitalis purpurea," he said softly. "I'm not entirely sure what it is–"

"Foxglove," Hermione interrupted him, "also known as Fairy Weed, among other things. It's poisonous, especially when ingested. If she slipped that into your tea, you'd be dead, not infertile. She must've used it in conjunction with something else…"

She trailed off, noting how much her analysis of the situation was upsetting him. He tried to hide it of course, but that Malfoy mask didn't protect against emotional outbursts. He couldn't stop soft sob that lurched out of his mouth and Hermione caressed his face in an effort to soothe him.

"I'm so sorry, Draco." She whispered gentle words to him, kissing him softly. Once he'd stopped shaking, she asked, "are you sure it's irreversible?"

She didn't know what else to ask. He nodded his head solemnly and she wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to just hold him. Hermione fought her own tears as Draco let his run free. He wasn't expecting himself to cry again, he'd already had his fair share of tears over what his ex-wife had done. He wasn't this pathetic. But Draco couldn't help himself as Hermione pulled his head down to rest on her chest, holding him tightly. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of her heartbeat; it was somewhat accelerated, but consistent in its rhythm.

Of course, he couldn't ignore the fact that he was pressed up against her breasts, and welcomed the move as she shifted on the couch to flip her legs over his lap. It was such an endearingly thoughtful move, not to mention incredibly intimate. She ran her right hand through his hair, occasionally kissing the crown as he gripped her left hand in his. They stayed like that, just talking, until Hermione realised they'd talked for over an hour. She wanted to get home, to take this man into her bed, and never let him go.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

Draco nodded, and followed her lead as they found Émilie, who'd been hiding under a buffet table with the minister's daughter, trying to avoid some boy she said was a "stupid bigot" and said their farewells to the few people Hermione would notice they'd slipped out early. They apparated home and once they were inside the wards, Rosalie appeared immediately, like she knew they were about to arrive. Hermione kissed her daughter goodnight and Émilie surprised her by hugging her father.

By this time, Draco had calmed down somewhat, putting up his trademark aloof mask; he cleared his throat after they'd gone and grabbed Hermione swiftly, causing her to let out a soft cry of surprise. He carried her to her room, wasting no time in putting a silencing charm on the walls. He turned back to the stunning beauty in front of him and reached out to slip the cheongsam from her body as she kicked off her high heeled sandals. She was wearing a black bra and knickers and his eyes flickered wantonly over her perfect form as she undid her hair.

"If you stand there all night, I'll have to do this all by myself," she scolded.

She raced him to her bed, managing to lie back onto it before he climbed on top of her. He shrugged off his dress robes, stripping all the way down to his emerald boxers. He shifted his body slightly, pressing into her as his lips brushed her ear. "I _want_ you Hermione."

She couldn't stop the trembling rippling through her body as he crashed his mouth onto hers. He had had an _intoxicating_ effect on her drunk self, and she'd spent the years thinking that was the only way he'd been able to sleep with her.

Now she knew better.

Hermione didn't fight as Draco's right hand slid behind her back and undid the clasp on her bra. She slipped it off and his hand moved toward her knickers, intent on exposing her completely to him. With his left arm wrapped around her waist, his mouth moved from hers and he rained kisses on her neck, the warmth of his breath making her tremble. She moaned as his fingers found her knickers, slipping under the lacy material to pull it down and off of her. This was what he wanted, what he'd spent the last few months dreaming about, _every_ night. She was hard work getting into bed when sober, but proving to be worth it.

Draco repositioned himself on top of her and she parted her legs as his mouth found her breasts. His warm breath sent a shudder of pleasure through her body, and she cried out as he bit her softly, his fingers sliding into her already wet sex.

"Draco," she murmured, and repeated it like a mantra.

He heard the pleading in her voice, ignoring her tone as he finger fucked her. She wanted him inside her, _now_, but he was taking his time. She dripped onto his hands, crying out again, her voice threatening him with violent _pain_ if he didn't take her right then and there. Draco chuckled and removed his boxers. He moved his mouth back to hers, surprised when she took him into her hands, massaging him, pumping the blood faster and faster into his muscle. He groaned, removing her hand before he could explode.

"That's enough," he growled huskily into her mouth, thrusting into her without warning.

She bit his bottom lip, half screaming his name into his mouth as he refused to let her throw her head back at the swift intrusion. He held her tightly, kissing her with feverish desire as he grinded into her. He kept the pace painfully slow until she started to wriggle under him impatiently, and lifted her legs over his shoulders. His thrusts became frenzied, but not sloppy. He wanted it to last. But her movements were making it difficult for him to concentrate. He broke their kiss, finally, and buried his face into her shoulder, his hips jerking forward automatically.

Hermione threw her head back, gripping the bed sheets for dear life, fisting her knuckles with every plunge he was making. _'Fucking __hell__.'_

'_No_,' she thought to herself, and then promptly screamed out "yes!"

She screamed his name when they both came, her voice hoarse, and her limbs still trembling from the effort. Good _god_ he was a god. And she made the mistake of repeating that thought to him out loud. He wasn't going to let her forget it.

… …

… …

The months passed much as the last few weeks had: Draco slipped into Hermione's boudoir once everyone else was asleep, and proceeded to seduce the Gryffindor princess. Come morning, he would then serve her breakfast in bed. During her menstruation, he would skip directly to the breakfast, inwardly lamenting on the loss of the opportunity to shag her.

Hermione for her part had lost the will to fight him while screaming "no" at the same time. She was so physically attracted to him, so drawn to the gorgeous man who would enter her chamber and give her everything her dream Draco did, and more. She wasn't trying to lead him on, having sex with him while refusing to otherwise commit, but all her defences disappeared the moment he touched her. All of them, bar the part he was trying to wear down. She couldn't, no _wouldn't_ marry him, right?

Merlin, when he touched her, she wanted _everything_ from him. But the man was so tactless, so snooty; how could she throw her life away for him? She wasn't even in love with him for Merlin's sake! She felt the attraction, found herself caring for him perhaps, but marriage was supposed to be about love, not convenience!

And then he would run his fingers along her skin, tracing the outline of her breasts as he kissed her deeply. All logic left her, all reason fled her mind, and she gave into her carnal desires, her shameless craving of the feeling of him inside of her. He had let her into his soul, baring himself, naked in his glory. He had shared with her things she would never share with anyone else. Thoughts, feelings, secrets and the real truth behind his heartbreak. Perhaps she was helping to heal, and just maybe, he would legally recognise Émilie as his own. It was clear what Émilie wanted; her father, her mother and to never feel less than other children her age because they got both of their parents while she had surrogates for her father.

And Hermione had already fallen for him, she wasn't so stupid that she hadn't realised _that_ at least. These past few months, and especially in the weeks leading up to the Easter holidays, she found herself happier than she'd been in a long time, in the arms of someone she never wanted to let go.

But…

'_So why the hell am I fighting him?'_

… …

… …

There were only a few days before the Easter holidays, and Draco's patience was starting to wear thin. Sure, it had already gone out the window a few days after he'd arrived in France, but much more of this back and forth flirting and mind blowing sex with Hermione, and he was liable to tear his hair out. He needed to know where this was going, and how to get her to start taking him seriously. He both wanted and needed her to return to England, _both_ her and Émilie. He had thought he had nothing left anymore, and that he wasn't going to be able to fulfil the last will and testament set about by his cantankerous ancestors. Potter's hurry to demolish the pureblood marriage laws would come in handy also, for his plans to marry Granger.

He smirked at that.

The golden boy wouldn't be too happy with that.

Draco swirled the martini he'd made himself (infuriating as it was, living in a house with no house-elves was starting to grow on him) and waited patiently for the grate in front of him to change; he waited on the green flames. He had received a letter from Blaise, the owl having found him yesterday, and the man was impatiently _aching_ to tell him something. Apparently, the stupid blighter hadn't wanted to write it all down in a letter, so Hermione had been gracious enough to leave Draco alone in the main sitting room. She was such a busy body, that it made him suspicious when she'd offered to give him his privacy, without asking him _why_ he would need it.

Draco drained the glass in his hand as the fireplace seemed to come to life.

Blaise Zabini stuck his head into the flames and Draco chuckled, as he always did, at the sight of his best friend's disembodied head. He couldn't help it. It was a comical appearance. No-one else made him laugh at the sight.

Also, as much as he pondered on the real reason behind her agreement, he figured Hermione had let him use this fireplace to avoid him using the one in her bedroom. It wasn't like he hadn't been in there before, but she'd let slip to him that she was allowed to block other fireplaces from her Floo. He supposed it was good to be a war heroine. She'd also baulked at the idea of having any "unexpected head" in her room.

It was hilarious to him, to hear her say it like that, but he kept the chuckle from escaping his throat. It was all he could do to avoid a Stinging Hex, or worse.

"You get my owl?" Zabini asked, worried.

"Of course. Why else would I be staring at your bug eyed face right now?"

"Temper, temper mon capitaine."

Draco sighed, mumbled an apology, and crouched in front of the fireplace so that his friend didn't have to strain his neck. He really was in a rotten mood. While being with Granger and Émilie all these months had been enjoyable, and often more explosive than anticipated, he was more than ready to go home. He had been from the moment he'd arrived, but Hermione wasn't budging and he was being just as stubborn.

Blaise cleared his throat. "I wanted to inform you about your ex-wife–"

Draco groaned. "I do _not_ want to hear any more of that cheating whore."

"But that's just it mate, you're going to have to, whether you like it or not."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but she's after your family jewels, mate." He snickered at the blonde's shocked expression. "Not _those_ ones. She's got a whole case against you as the Lord of Malfoy manor. Apparently, since Scorpius was conceived during your marriage, there's a loop hole that will allow her to make him the heir and take your name off of the running."

"I'm not _in_ the running, you git. I _am_ the lord of the manor."

Blaise chuckled. "I know that. But given the givens, she's looking to having you ruled incompetent. This will naturally leave the next in line as the lord instead."

'_Incompetent?'_

"That _bitch_ poisoned me, and now she wants to use my infertility as an excuse to take my family jewels. It was her fucking fault to begin with!"

Blaise stayed quiet as Draco vented, calling Astoria Greengrass all the names he had learnt from his dark skinned best friend growing up, but never dared utter in front of his parents. The disembodied head of his friend let out an audible sigh of relief when Draco finally started to calm down. He was still pissed off, naturally, not sure if he would ever stop being angry with the prissy slag. He took a deep breath, but only ended up scowling and coughing slightly. Blaise took this as a sign that it was safe to talk again.

"You realise don't you, that she doesn't know about Émilie?" He said suggestively.

"Yes of course I know she doesn't know, now shut it," Draco snarled. "How long do I have?"

"Not long," Blaise said seriously. "You'll want to start packing now. Unless of course you're too busy shagging Granger," he added cheekily.

"Well, as much as I love a good shag–"

"She's getting the papers drawn up now," Blaise said, looking at Draco with sympathy. "With or without the Grangers, you _need_ to get your ass back over here. The shite is gonna hit the fan sooner or later mate, and I really think it's in your best interest to sort this out in the 'sooner' category."

"I can't leave without them," Draco said earnestly.

Blaise lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "Because of Astoria..?"

"Sure, but…" Draco trailed off, and stared at the mantel piece instead of his friend's disembodied head. "I don't _want_ to leave without them."

He didn't notice Blaise's shifting glance around the room as the darker man chuckled softly. "Aaww, someone's falling for Granger. I guess I can't blame you. Hurry back, lover boy."

He disappeared and Draco sighed, standing up and dusting himself off unnecessarily. He hung his head, staring into the now empty grating, his eyes intense on the dead wood inside. He had already felt the pull on his heart six years ago, but dismissed it. It was his biggest regret, and something that had cost him dearly. He wasn't going to let her go so easily this time.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made him turn around, but funnily enough, he wasn't startled by Hermione's sudden appearance. He smirked at her.

"And how long have you been stalking me?"

She strode into the room. "Only for a few minutes."

"Blaise knew you were standing there the entire time?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders as she stopped directly in front of Malfoy. "Probably; did you mean what you said?"

"Yes," he said, "I actually do love a good shag."

She chuckled. "You know what I mean."

He decided to feign ignorance and shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Granger."

"Of course you would deny _feeling_ anything Lord Malfoy," she said sarcastically.

It was only the truth of what he'd confessed to her in that billiard room, as well as what she'd just overheard that kept her from storming out of the room. He was still suffering, she could see it, but him not admitting it right at this moment was just a reflex. She wondered if he would _ever_ open up to her without having to have had something strong to drink first. She _wanted_ to help him, she really did, but how would it help for her and Émilie to follow him back to England? Not only was her daughter a half-blood, but a _girl_. If she knew nothing else about Malfoy tradition, Hermione at least knew that the heirs were always male.

That, most likely, was the loop hole Astoria was trying to exploit.

So Hermione decided to ignore his obvious dismissal and took his hand in hers, entwining their fingers.

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" She asked, worried.

He shrugged his shoulders. "There's only one way to find out."

Hermione sighed, squeezing his hand and staring at him thoughtfully. She _wanted_ to, really, she was just scared. She wasn't supposed to be scared, after all, she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing. But everyone was afraid of something, and it was with that thought that she wondered: if she tracked down a Boggart right now, _what_ exactly would it turn into? Draco continued to stare straight back at her, hoping the lack of quips was working in his favour.

"So… you're coming back?" He asked hopefully.

His voice seemed to rouse her musings, and she decided to put him out of his misery.

"I think you've suffered enough," she said playfully, grinning at his confusion. "As in, 'yes mister Malfoy'."

Draco grinned. "And then we can get married."

"One thing at a time," she scolded. "I haven't decided if I even _like_ you yet."

He shrugged as she giggled, unable to hide the mirth. It was a mere formality at this point. He grabbed her, spun her around, and then pulled her in close. She tasted of strawberries, her lips having parted immediately as he kissed her. She gripped him tightly and apparated them into her boudoir, where he promptly threw her onto the bed. Before Hermione could crawl away, he was on top of her, using his body to cover her like a cage, and hovered over her, his elbows on the duvet. She accepted his kisses again, giggling as he tickled her and wondering what it would be like, to spend every day like this one. She wasn't afraid of that future anymore, nor what Draco Malfoy might do to get it.

She trusted him.

Draco sighed with desire as Hermione ran her hand along his spine. This simple, lustful act fuelled the warmth racing through his body. She was finally coming home with him! With all the confessions he and Hermione had finally spilled to each other, it was now time he let out a few confessions to his parents as well. He was done with wallowing in self pity.

X X X

**A/N: Phew! Yay! Over 12,000 words! That freaks me out to be honest. In a good way, if there is such an animal. Never written any one shot or chapter this long before, so yeah, pins and needles and all that. Anyway, there are two more chapters left, and I'm sure you guys can figure out what they will surround. Lotsa, lotsa drama! :) Someone suggested I kill of Astoria… I'll think about that. But there are worse things than getting killed off, ne?**

**So… I'm open to all forms of constructive criticism (emphasis is on "constructive" guys), not to mention praise. *wink, wink*  
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**R&R.**


	3. Meeting the Family

**A/N: Yay! I'm back! ^_^.  
>I know that canon has Victoire going to Hogwarts (think so…) but for the purpose of this fic, and the existence of Émilie Rose Granger, Bill and Fleur had decided they would send her to Beauxbatons (is under the age right now, btw). I've only mentioned it here in passing, so this is just a head's up.<br>Enjoy! ^_^ **

…

– Part 3 –  
>.:. Meeting the Family.:.<p>

…

Harry Potter had been called many things over the years. He was the boy who lived, and the chosen one, and by people who _didn't_ like him, he was called anything ranging from the half-blood freak to potty. But never in his twenty-seven years had he ever been called… happy nappy.

It was just so childish.

Draco Malfoy smirked at the disgusted look on his face, striding past him without slowing down. He was out of earshot a moment later, having headed upstairs, toward what Harry believed was the master bedroom.

'_Trust him to think __that__ was funny.'_

The man had the maturity of a five year old. Well, a five year old who loved to shag and drink expensive intoxicants. Now that was a disgusting mental image if there ever was one.

"Ignore him," Hermione told him, not looking up from her book.

Hermione Granger had invited Harry over for afternoon tea and the three of them had just finished a small lunch, while Émilie had declined the offer because she was still sulking in her room. Once the banter between Hermione's best friend and… lover (she wasn't sure what else to call the ferret) had started up, she'd wisely kept out of it, hiding inside her book. But, with Draco having left the room, Harry wanted her full attention. It was the day before the Grangers "plus one" were due to head back to England and he was understandably excited at the prospect of his best friend coming home, but…

"Do you have to move in with Malfoy?"

She chuckled, smirking at Harry as she marked her place in the book. "That's kind of how this works Harry."

"So you've agreed to marry him, then?"

Hermione stared at him thoughtfully. "No… but he seems to think it's inevitable and quite frankly, I'm not entirely opposed to the idea."

"And they call me nutters," he mumbled, moving from his position next to the glass, patio doors and sitting down on the lounge, next to her.

The main sitting room had undergone a change over the last week, and Harry wondered why Hermione was packing their belongings in here and not in a more spacious room, like the entertainment room (in which she'd _never_ entertained guests in her entire time in Helaine Manor).

"You _are_ nutters," Hermione said dismissively, "just in an 'I gotta save the world, even from itself' kind of way."

She shook her head at him in a motherly way, stood up, strode over to a particularly large box, and peered inside. It was just full of junk, and she supposed she wasn't going to be able to bring everything back to England with her. This manor wasn't as large as say, the Malfoy one, but it was still bigger than any other place she'd ever lived in, in England. It wasn't going to fit in the place they were moving to.

Harry decided to stop complaining and offered his help as the groundskeeper walked into the room, his arms laden with small boxes that were heavier than they looked. He had met Perrin before, but the guy was difficult to speak to, as he never made the effort to get along with him. He was a squib, this much Harry knew, and seemed to adore Hermione, which was why he'd offered to help her with the packing and hauling, even though he was unhappy she was leaving France.

"Ah, thank you Perrin," Hermione said, smiling at him. "Harry, can you deal with this? I'm going to get some stuff out of my room."

"This is your idea of afternoon tea?" Harry asked cheekily and she giggled as he cast the Reducio spell to begin shrinking her belongings.

As she walked up to her room, she mused on the growing similarities between herself and Harry. She didn't have house-elves, and neither did he, but they rarely did more physical labour than needed either. It wasn't like they were putting their Muggle upbringing entirely behind them of course. Hermione's parents weren't much of an influence in her life these days, having decided to stay in Australia when she'd tried to retrieve them after the war. The only parent figures she'd had since then were the Weasleys, but she hadn't seen Molly since her failed wedding with Ron, though Arthur sometimes visited and was one of few Weasleys who had met Émilie.

But only Harry and Ginny had gotten the full story behind Émilie's heritage.

Realising Draco had not actually gone to the master bedroom, Hermione took this rare advantage of having him out of her sight when in the bedroom and quickly gathered up a few knickknacks, magically shrinking them to fit in a too small box and carried the relatively light weight cardboard storage receptacle back down into the main sitting room. Harry was dutifully lending his magic to the packing process and Perrin was nowhere to be seen. The older man had probably left once alone with Harry. Hermione didn't understand him.

She sighed, moving onto more boxes.

She had told her parents about moving in with Draco (she'd said yes to him a week ago, but had been delaying the packing due to accommodation issues in England) and they thought she was moving too quickly. Of course, they didn't know about his problems, so she couldn't make them understand without telling them, but she promised that once she'd gotten settled, they were going to meet him.

'_Once Astoria is no longer a problem,'_ she thought fiercely.

She'd gone over the legal papers that pathetic excuse for a woman had had drawn up – they were very official, very damning for Draco, and so very, very spiteful. Hermione couldn't wait to meet her in a dark alley, her wand drawn and the pureblood menace begging on her knees.

She kept her daydream off of her face as Harry sighed deeply.

"You own too much stuff Hermione."

She just shrugged. "Have you seen my moleskin pouch?"

"I didn't know you had one."

"It's fake moleskin. I don't use animal parts Harry."

"Whatever you say."

Hermione looked up from the box she was currently searching at the strange tone in his voice. "Are you okay?"

He shrugged. "I'm just worried about you. Astoria is a queen sized bitch."

"I know."

"You _don't_ know." Harry stared at her earnestly. "You have no idea–"

"Harry James Potter," she said sternly. "I am going to tell you something, and you are going to listen."

He nodded quickly and she continued. She told him about Scorpius not being Draco's biological son and the law Astoria was trying to use to get the Malfoy jewels, so to speak. She said nothing of that woman poisoning Draco, making him infertile however, not wanting to see the look on his face – nor Draco's if he knew she'd told Harry.

He had already seen the youngest Greengrass in all her devious opulence and was still surprised by what Hermione was telling him. He understood now, his best friend wasn't the only one who had had their heart broken.

According to Draco, he had never been in love with Astoria, but she had crushed his heart the day she yelled at him that Scorpius wasn't his child. She had been having an affair, and the night Scorpius had been conceived, Draco was out of the country on a business trip. He had learnt to love that child, not wanting to turn into his father – a man who could never show how much he cared about his own child unless his life was on the line. Hermione knew, from their discussions, that Draco would always be grateful for when his parents had been searching for him during the battle at Hogwarts instead of fighting alongside Voldemort all those years ago. He would always love them for that. But he didn't want to turn into them.

Hermione fell silent, thinking about how Astoria had made sure Draco would never have any children, but she didn't know about Émilie. She didn't know that the night before their wedding, he'd run into an old school "acquaintance" and had his last shag as a single man. It was the only thing in the past last seven years that Draco didn't regret.

It made her feel for him… not sympathy (he'd already gotten enough of that), but something deeper, and she knew she was falling in love with him. It was a strangled choking sensation she felt when thinking about what he'd been through. And, truth be told, all these years on, she was still so attracted to Draco Malfoy that she could never imagine having sex with anyone else. All her fantasies included him: he was hot, they both knew it, but it was the way he whispered in her ear and the slight huskiness to his voice that made her want to kiss him.

He knew he got to her, and it made her want him even more.

… …

… …

"Père?" Émilie Rose Granger was startled slightly by the knock on her door and somehow, knew exactly who it was. Her father opened the door after she called out and she smiled at the sight of him, looking like he hadn't packed a single bag yet. "Are you packed?" She asked.

"I'm supposed to be the one asking _you_ that," Draco said, squeezing his daughter's shoulder gently.

She rolled her eyes. "Everybody knows _I'm_ more mature that you, father."

He just shrugged his shoulders. The truth was, that they should have been ready days ago, but so many discussions surrounding where they were going to go, what they were going to tell people and Émilie's depression, had brought the process to a screeching halt. But she couldn't avoid it anymore.

"Do you need any help?" He asked, feeling guiltier every time he had this conversation with his daughter.

"No _Père_," she said. "Unless–"

"Undetectable Extension Charm on your bag?"

She nodded enthusiastically and Draco obliged, pulling out his wand and charming her bag so that she could fit more in. He didn't extend it too far, as she'd still have to be able to _find_ what she put in there. Magic seemed to fascinate her to no end, but he hadn't seen her use any yet. He had yet to ask her or Hermione when was the first time Émilie had accidentally used magic. He decided that was a question that could wait and hugged her from behind.

"Our little secret," he said. "Your mother wants you to do Muggle things after all."

"Yes, it's annoying."

Draco chuckled. "You are definitely a Malfoy. You'll be sorted into Slytherin for sure." He felt her go tense. "What's wrong? Don't tell me your mother has filled your head with notions of evil Slytherins?"

"Beauxbatons Academy of Magic," she said softly. "I want…"

She drifted off but he realised what she meant. Hermione must've intended for Émilie to go there instead of Hogwarts. He let go of the sullen blonde and turned her to face him. "Did you grow up learning all about it?"

She nodded. "Victoire and me, we were going to be best friends there and join the choir together. I-I want to go to Beauxbatons."

He honestly didn't know what to say to that. Watching her worry over this sent a surge of guilt through him, and a slight annoyance directed at her mother for running away to France in the first place.

'_Well, whaddya know.' _

It was the first time he'd felt annoyed at her for that. After all, he _understood_ why she had, and in her place, he didn't know what he would do. Weaslebee had just betrayed her, she'd had a one night stand with a former enemy, and then discovered herself to be pregnant to said enemy who had by that time already gotten married. She must've thought she'd never leave France and then resigned herself to raising Émilie here all on her own. It had to have been a hard decision, especially for someone normally so... honest.

And just like that, that slight annoyance faded away completely and Draco smiled down at Émilie, lifting her chin to look at him. "Let's just focus on being a family for now, okay? We can talk about that later."

Émilie nodded and threw her little arms around his waist as best she could, still upset. Really, he understood. But there were more immediate concerns to be dealt with. Like the imminent argument with his parents, not to mention one evil, conniving ex-wife.

"On that note," Draco said seriously, "I need to warn you about something."

Eventually, his parents were going to meet Émilie, and he didn't want his daughter to go into that meeting with any delusions about them being great grandparents. She was close with Hermione's parents, despite the fact that they were living in Australia, and that was enough. He didn't want _his_ parents attempting to turn her into some miniature Death Eater wannabe.

… …

… …

Half an hour later, Émilie went out back to play with Rosalie as Draco had re-entered the main sitting room. Hermione and Harry were looking forlorn and dispirited and he felt himself annoyed for a reason he couldn't comprehend.

"What is up with you two?" He asked and they hastily shifted into fake smiles.

"We're fine," Hermione said unconvincingly. "You all packed?"

He groaned. "What is it with you Granger women? I'm _packed_ for Merlin's sake! I've been packed for days. And besides, you have more things than I do."

Harry chuckled. "He's got you on that one."

Draco had started living here with nothing, but over the months, had steadily moved some of his things here, especially once he started sharing Hermione's bed. But he wouldn't move completely, not wanting to give her the idea it was a permanent arrangement. She had to move back to England, and that was all there was to it.

"I've lived here for six years," she snapped back. "Of course I've accumulated so many things. France is not just appealing to look at, it has so many…"

And she rambled off about the many antiquities, etc., she'd "acquired" over the years. Draco smirked at her, remembering that she had had to hand in her resignation to that auction house she ran in the Muggle city of Béziers. It wasn't a normal auction house, as all proceeds went to magical charities – ever the philanthropist. But it was still a _job_, and even though Draco related the quantity of the steady pay to that of a servant, Hermione hadn't minded. She was still rich, after all… but more than that, she enjoyed helping people.

She had a passion for antiquities, something he hadn't noticed about her back at Hogwarts.

"Uh, Hermione?" Harry interrupted her, realising he was due back home soon. "Sorry to interrupt your tirade, but I have to go. I'm expected home."

"Remind me Potter," Draco teased. "_Who_ exactly wears the pants in your marriage?"

The chosen one just shook his head and ignored the jab. "Before I go, Hermione promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise."

"And that you'll tell the rest of the Weasleys about Émilie and… Malfoy? They should be told."

Draco sneered at him for the hesitation on his name, but said nothing.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Okay, you're right Harry. But can you tell them for me? I'll speak with them afterward I promise," she added quickly at the strained look on his face. "I just need…"

She trailed off and he sighed.

"Okay," Harry agreed finally. "I'll talk to Arthur and Molly. But you should tell Ron–"

"Why?" Hermione asked, annoyed, glancing at Draco, who was keeping suspiciously quiet. "He doesn't need to know."

"You _need_ to tell him personally Hermione," Harry implored. "You won't be able to keep this quiet for long – you know what Rita Skeeter is like – and if he finds out that way, you _know_ he won't be very nice about it."

Hermione groaned. "Why must I have to worry how _he_ feels after all this time? I came to France to get away from him Harry. I will not let him dictate who, how and why I do _anything_."

She looked at Draco as he shifted slightly, the discomfort obvious on his face.

"As much as I hate to admit it," Draco said, "I agree with potty here. Between my parents and Astoria, there's going to be enough shit, and we don't need Weaslebee making it worse."

Harry shifted awkwardly, not sure how he felt about Draco agreeing with him, and decided to ignore it. "Now that that's settled, I'll be going. Once you've settled into your new place, we can arrange a time for you to speak with them." He frowned. "_Where_ exactly will you be moving to?"

"An old Malfoy villa," Draco said. "It's _quaint_ compared to the manor, but nowhere near it, which is just fine. I spent the last few months making it liveable – it was a total wreck."

Which was why he'd been with his parents when Pansy and Blaise had come to drag him to the Quidditch match… what felt like years ago, but was only months. He had been considering doing up the villa when he needed a place to stay, but hadn't wanted to stay in Malfoy Manor the entire time. Helaine Manor was much more pleasant, and he'd anticipated Hermione's acquiesce to his desire to bring her back to England, sparing no expense in getting the villa ready.

"It's only a temporary arrangement," Hermione said hotly as Harry raised his eyebrows at her, surprised.

"All in good time," Draco said cheekily and left the room again, so that Hermione could see Harry off alone.

Harry watched him go, and spoke once he was out of earshot. "Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"No," she said honestly. "But what am I supposed to do, run off to yet another country to avoid yet another overbearing man?"

Harry gave her a calculating look. "I thought you hadn't talked to Ron after your night with Malfoy?"

"I didn't, Harry. But he owled me and Ginny warned me he was going crazy after what happened. Cheating on me was the worst of his offences, but it wasn't the only thing he'd done wrong."

Harry nodded his head reluctantly. Ronald Weasley wasn't the most understanding of people. He'd started a lot of fights with Hermione before the preparations for their wedding had even started, doing everything just short of hitting her. The final straw had been him sleeping with Lavender shortly after marrying Hermione. Harry had never been angrier at anyone in his entire life, not even Voldemort. Ron was his best friend, Hermione too, and in the end, he was supposed to be better than that. Harry had tried to talk to the man, to at least _appear_ neutral, but he fumed every time Ron would sneer that he wasn't neutral in this matter and should take sides.

That was what best friends were for after all, he'd said.

'_Best friends?'_

It had taken every ounce of self-control Harry had not to hit Ron there and then. The ginger haired man had given the chosen one an ultimatum – either take _his_ side or they were no longer best friends. Harry had tried _again_ to convince Ron that he shouldn't have to take sides, and that it wasn't his fault any more than it was Hermione's that Ron had decided to shag Lavender Brown on his wedding day to Hermione. But the man would not listen, throwing out some choice words for the woman he'd spent many Valentine's Days trying to work up the courage to ask out.

That was when Harry had decided that if Ron could do that to Hermione, someone he was supposed to be in love with, _he_ wasn't sticking around long enough to be stabbed in the back either. He had not been best friends with Ron since.

Harry had also not told Hermione the things Ron had said. She might've hexed him bad enough to get sent to Azkaban, or something…

But, it wasn't only because of the act of betrayal or the _colourful_ descriptions Ron had spared an absent Hermione that turned Harry's stomach. After years of trusting someone with your life, a little thing called fidelity and respect wasn't supposed to be so hard to expect. He didn't trust him. They talked every now and then, a couple of times a year they might even go out of their way to do so, but it wasn't the same anymore. And to make matters worse, the entire Wizarding world was _still_ talking about it. No-one outside a select group knew exactly what Ron had done, but the popular theory was that it was his fault. After all, the famous Harry Potter didn't talk to him much anymore and there were always rumours of him leaving England to visit Hermione… not that very many people knew _where_ she'd run off to.

The only people who knew _exactly_ where she had gone were Harry, Ginny, Fleur Delacour, and the Weasleys except for Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Molly.

Harry might not have cut Ron out of his life if the man had just admitted his mistake and begged Hermione to stay, if he had shown _any_ remorse. But he hadn't, and still didn't. He was with Lavender, he was happy _now_, but had seemed to go crazy because of what he'd done only through shame over being caught, and _not_ guilt. Apparently, it was _Lavender_ who'd calmed him down.

Shaking himself of these thoughts, Harry hugged Hermione, wishing he could do everything for her, protect her from what was coming, and never let anything bad happen to her ever again. When she'd told him a little of Astoria's plans (he had a feeling there was more to it, but didn't want to push it) he was even more terrified for her than he had been.

"Be careful Hermione," he repeated, pulling away. "Just remember that I'm only a Floo away if you need anything, okay?"

She nodded. "I know; thankyou. Now get out of here before Ginny owls me wondering where you've got to."

He just smiled sheepishly and did as he was told, repeating his promise before disappearing in flames of green.

Hermione sighed. "I know you're there. I suppose you heard everything we just said?"

Draco poked his head out from behind the marble constructed archway that led into the main sitting room. "Malfoys do not eavesdrop. That's for common people."

She chuckled. "Yeah, right."

This wasn't the Draco Malfoy she remembered from Hogwarts, not really, but she sometimes worried, with the occasional hint of his previously sanctimonious self, that the arrogant git was still inside of him, just waiting for the opportune moment to break loose and hurt her. He strode into the room and pulled her flush against his body, kissing her for good measure.

And then he would hold her, caress her, tell her how beautiful she was and make love to her… all her worries disappeared.

'_I love you Draco Malfoy.'_

She knew he loved her too, but neither of them had said it yet. That was okay with her.

"Come on," he whispered softly, having pulled out of the breathless kiss. "Émilie's outside with Rosalie. Let's take advantage of this momentary peace and fill our empty bedroom."

She growled, wishing he'd stop referring to _her_ bedroom as _theirs_. He swept her up into his arms and apparated them upstairs. The afternoon was theirs.

… …

… …

After getting home and finding no-one there, Harry remembered the kids were at The Burrow.

He was getting forgetful… _not_ a good sign. Still, he blamed the rather unorthodox afternoon he'd just spent with Hermione, Émilie, and Draco. Strange things were often distracting.

Stepping out of the Floo, he left the newly refurbished Potter household to get past the magical wards and immediately spun on his heels to apparate to The Burrow. It was his turn to pick both James and Albus up from here, so this was the perfect opportunity to keep his promise to Hermione. Ron was there, but wasn't staying long, since _he_ was also just visiting to pick up his sons. Hugo Weasley was the only child of Ronald and Lavender, and was three years old, just like Albus (Lavender was six months pregnant with their second child – Ginny had told Harry this, he hadn't actually seen _her_ for almost that amount of time anyway). Except that, Albus would be four this year. But Harry wasn't looking forward to Albus's first year at Hogwarts… it would also be Hugo's and there was already animosity between him and Ron. He hated to think it might be passed down on to them. He remembered how cruel kids could be because of who their parents were.

It was one of the _very_ few reasons Harry tolerated Ron's presence when he encountered him in _family_ situations.

So, it was with trepidation that Harry approached The Burrow, knowing his former best friend would be there and entered after George happily invited him in. The house was as peculiar and welcoming as ever, but right now felt claustrophobic for Harry. When he wasn't here with Ginny, he felt outnumbered and outflanked. They never treated him with disdain for choosing Hermione over Ron, but every now and then, the tension rose when Ron was present. Molly however, Harry believed was unhappy with him, even though she seemed to understand his decision. She was just disappointed that the three of them hadn't "gotten over it", as Ron sometimes quoted.

She was aware of the details of Ron's infidelity and had been shocked, but never roused on him. Harry had often wondered if she thought Hermione was partly to blame, though he never asked, fearful of that infamous Prewett temper. So he settled for silently believing she simply decided not to cause a ruckus about it. She didn't want to there to be any more bitterness than there already was, probably…

He inclined his head in a casual manner as Ron approached him; the ginger haired man attempted the slightest smile and Harry sighed inwardly.

'_Okay fine, here goes.'_

"How have you been Ron?" He asked, not wanting to be rude, not really.

"Oh good," Ron said, barely reacting to the fact that his redhead son was hugging his legs and clearly upset. "Lavender's pregnant again, did I tell you? It's a girl this time and I want to call her Rose. I can't wait to have a daughter."

Harry mentally cringed. Émilie's middle name was Rose. Ron knew that Hermione had a daughter, that her name was Émilie (he pronounced it "emma-lay" the _git_), but not anything else. He probably thought she'd gotten knocked up _after_ arriving in France all those years ago. Molly didn't know either, but Harry had a sneaky suspicion George and Arthur at least, had figured out Émilie's parentage – the matriarch had yet to meet her anyway, always "busy" when her husband visited Hermione on select holidays. But Bill wasn't stupid, though never gave anything away in his manner to indicate whether or not Fleur had told him.

"That's… nice." Harry said in response to Ron's comment, not sure what else he should say.

He turned his head slightly as James bolted out of the kitchen.

"Daddy!" James gripped Harry fiercely, like he hadn't seen him for years.

As usual, Albus was close behind him; he loved following his brother around. He had the same dark ginger hair as his mother and had inherited her loving nature, more so than James anyway. He started tugging on James's shirt, but the older boy ignored him.

"Did you hear, did you hear?" James asked from somewhere around his father's midsection. "Rosette is coming to stay!"

"Rosette?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry ignored him, looking down at his oldest son with a slight smile. "Yes I've heard. Did your grandmother tell you, or that rapscallion uncle with the weird sense of humour?"

He referred jokingly of course, to George. James giggled loudly, pulling out of the hug and looked up at him. "Uncle George of course. He has all the best gossip and can't keep his mouth shut."

"Hey!" James laughed evilly at the redhead in the corner of the room as his uncle George pretended to look hurt. "Take that back! I do not gossip, I chit-chat."

"Daddy…" Hugo mumbled, finally drawing his father's attention, and Ron bent down to pick him up.

"We should be going," he said and nodded his head to Harry as Molly made a slight scoffing sound.

Harry hadn't noticed at first that she'd exited the kitchen shortly after James and Albus. There were currently (not including children) six Weasleys in the small living room of The Burrow, their faces ranging from frustrated to placid. (Ron, Molly, Arthur, George, Charlie and Percy…)

"You don't need to run off," Molly said, a little too quickly. "You've only been here for a few minutes."

"Lavender's expecting me," he said, at least smart enough not to allow his mother a window of opportunity to start up again about Harry becoming his best friend again. He hugged and said his farewells to his family, Hugo balancing dangerously on his hip, and then as he opened the door to the burrow to leave, paused. He glanced at Harry. "Say hello to Hermione for me, will you."

And then he was gone. Harry wondered why he'd mentioned Hermione, when he hadn't for years. Did he know she was due back soon? It had been a week since Hermione agreed to return with Draco, but several people including George and Arthur Weasley already know. But would they tell Ron? Harry glanced around the living room, but no-one was commenting on that last goodbye. They knew he didn't want to talk about the failed bond that used to hold together the golden trio. It was a taboo subject only raised by Molly when Ron and Harry were in the same room and Ron was the one who had to leave or fall silent to something Harry said or did. It wasn't like Harry went out of his way to show Ron up, he'd never been like that, but sometimes Molly acted like he did.

Harry sighed. "I need to tell you guys something, and you must promise _not_ to repeat it to anyone else, not even Ron."

Molly scoffed again, but the imminent rebuttal was cut off by Arthur, who placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded to the chosen one. "You have our word."

Harry glanced at the rest of their faces, waiting for each of their agreement on this before speaking. "Here's the thing… Molly, you haven't met Émilie, Hermione's daughter, but you will soon. She's returning to England, as I'm sure George has told you, since he talks to Émilie all the time."

Albus finally stopped tugging on James, and his brother started bobbing up and down enthusiastically, gripping his father's hand tightly, his eyes wide with excitement. It would seem all eyes were on Harry. He squirmed slightly at this before continuing.

"Okay, straight to the point then. Draco Malfoy is Émilie's father and Hermione's returned to England to marry him."

'_A bit of a lie – she hasn't agreed yet.' _

But Harry had seen the look on her face every time the subject came up ever since she'd told him about it. It was most definitely going to happen. He wasn't happy that she'd slept with the ferret, but Émilie was a delightful child when she loosened up enough, and she was Hermione's world. If marrying that snotty prat of a Malfoy was what was best for Hermione well, he supposed he wouldn't say anymore about it to her. But that didn't mean he trusted or liked the man.

The silence in The Burrow was deafening. Neither George nor Arthur seemed surprised, but Charlie, Percy, and Molly were gobsmacked. Charlie recovered first, clearing his throat.

"Are you sure?"

Harry nodded.

"Little Émilie is definitely a Malfoy?" George asked softly. "I think I knew it, deep down. She looks so much like him. But I could never have imagined Hermione would sleep with the greasy git."

"It's disgusting," Molly said. "And why are _you_ telling us Harry? And why not tell Ronald?"

"Hermione will do that herself," Harry said, annoyed by her tone. "This is all going to come out eventually, that can't be helped. But we're all family, and I agreed to tell you before she got here. Things are going to heat up and… it won't be pretty."

"Hermione should've told us," she said stubbornly.

"Molly," Arthur said soothingly. "I'm sure she had her reasons for keeping this quiet. We haven't exactly had the best relationship with the Malfoys after all."

"With good reason," she scowled. "They're terrible, the lot of them."

"Lucius and Narcissa are pretty bad," Percy offered, "and Draco was a pompous snot back in school, but…" He frowned. "So was I."

"That's completely different," Molly said gratingly. "You're–"

"All grown up and smelling of roses," George interrupted sarcastically, "and Malfoys never grow up, not even if you water them, or hose them off for good measure, because that's not how the world works, after all."

Harry chuckled despite the tension. It was going better than he expected, but technically Molly was outvoted, and it was Ron's inevitable reaction that was most worrying after all. He wasn't so easily overpowered with reason. Still, he wished Ginny had been able to come with him. She had an appointment with some Muggleborn wizard who was interested in converting an old dentist building near St. Mungo's into an extension of the older children's ward in the magical version of a hospital. The life of a philanthropist was never dull.

"Don't patronize me George Weasley," Molly snapped but he just smiled in return. She sighed deeply.

"She's going to marry…" James was confused. "What's 'marry' mean?"

Albus whined softly and Harry bent to pick him up – he immediately nuzzled his father's neck, now bored of the other adults and the conversation.

"They're going to love each other forever," Arthur told James.

"And have lots more children," George said, imitating the evil cackle Harry had never thought physically possible until he'd had James.

"That's _boring_!"

"That's an _adult_ conversation," Molly snapped.

James pouted, pulling on his father's hand now. "Let's go! I wanna go see Rosette!"

"In due time," Harry told him. He motioned to Percy. "Can we speak before I go?"

"Come on Potter pests," George said, retrieving Albus from Harry's arms and wrangling James away. "Let's go outside and poke fun at the garden gnomes while the _adults_ talk."

With reluctance, Molly followed the rest of her family as they trailed behind George, leaving Harry alone with Percy. The years had been kind to the once upon a time pompous snot that was Percival Weasley. Married to his Muggleborn girlfriend from their Hogwarts days, Penelope Clearwater, he was Great Britain's most sought after magical lawyer for families and individuals without incomparable fortunes locked away in Gringotts. Back when Voldemort had been defeated, Percy had decided to transfer to the law department, to do some good, but his ambitious side never truly went away, and he was a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom. Which made him the perfect lawyer to help Harry with what the Daily Prophet was calling his "latest crusade".

However right now, Harry wasn't looking to discuss his plans involving abolishing unfair, magically protected laws.

"I'll cut to the chase," he said, knowing Percy would never repeat what he was about to say, and remembering what Hermione had told him. "Draco Malfoy's ex-wife Astoria Greengrass is making some trouble for him and Hermione's going to get caught up in the middle of this. I want to know if there's any way, legal or not, to circumvent hereditary laws that don't rely on blood associations to work."

Percy raised his eyebrows at him. "Malfoy has his own string of expensive lawyers, and I doubt my presence would change anything, let alone be welcomed."

Harry nodded. "I know. But I'm not asking you to stand in the courtroom and defend his royal majesty–" (Percy chuckled at that) "–just look into the matter without drawing attention. His lawyers will be fighting this tooth and claw, but won't be breaking any laws to do so, and I know the way Astoria Greengrass works. She won't abide by the same conduct unless it serves her agenda."

"I understand. Does Hermione know you've come to me with this?"

"No." He smirked at the Weasley's worried expression. "Don't worry, I _will_ tell her, just not until you can find out whether or not there's anything we can do."

He didn't want to get her hopes up, or worry her unduly, not with the imminent explosion involving the Greengrass. Percy seemed to realise what he meant. He cleared his throat.

"Okay, I'll check on it, for Hermione."

"Thanks Perce."

"You're welcome," Percy said, as they both moved to leave The Burrow so that Harry could collect his sons. "And Harry, please stop calling me Perce."

… …

… …

The next morning was not as rushed as Hermione feared, and she was grateful to find both Draco and Émilie waiting for _her_ in the main sitting room. The excess they wouldn't be taking with them (for now) was packed, but stored away upstairs. Draco had been sending their belongings through the Floo for a few minutes, occasionally distracted by having to assure Émilie that they would arrive in one piece.

She really did _not_ like the Floo.

"I still don't get you," Draco said to Hermione. "Setting up the Floo instead of a Portkey or something."

She shrugged. "It's actually easier to arrange."

"And how is it that you can do that?" Draco asked. "Even the French ministry has rules against tampering with your own Floo."

She grinned. "Well you see, there was this thing about nine years ago when I kinda helped to save the world."

"Oh really? And how exactly did you do that Granger?"

She giggled and kissed him quickly. "I helped figured out a riddle, took down some nasty Death Eaters… easy."

Forgetting they had an audience, Draco pulled her lips back onto his and squeezed her tightly to him. He gripped her arse roughly and she squeaked into his mouth. He chuckled, deepening the kiss as he ran his other hand along her arm.

"_Mère_, _père_, behave," Émilie said, screwing up her face in disgust. "Eew!"

Hermione pushed at Draco and he let her go. What the _hell_ was the matter with them?

"Sorry Émilie," Draco said cheekily. "Now I have cooties and no-one but your mother can touch me safely until I wash them off."

"I think you'll find it's the other way around," Hermione said sourly, as their daughter's eyes widened.

Draco held out his arms to Émilie, who made a soft whinnying noise and moved to hide behind her mother.

"Ignore your father's idiocy," Hermione said. "Are you packed Émilie?"

The blonde under-aged witch nodded. "Yes _mère_. The rest is upstairs. Father did a spell for me to make them smaller so they'll all fit."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow at Draco, who was narrowing his eyes at his ruthless daughter. That was supposed to be their secret, and she was paying him back for teasing her.

"Where is Rosalie?" Hermione asked, fretfully.

Émilie smiled hopefully (yet sadly) at her. "_Rosalie vient aussi_?" **[A/N: "Rosalie comes too?"]**

"Of course," Rosalie said, appearing through the marble archway into the main sitting room, carrying a single bag. "Honestly, do 'oo zink I would leave your care to zis lot?"

She thumbed toward Émilie's parents and the little girl giggled, relieved. Rosalie was family, after all. The middle aged Muggleborn witch had no-one else, and would follow Émilie, no matter what.

Draco grumbled inaudibly, and sent the last of their belongings through the Floo.

"All ready?" Hermione asked. "Draco, you first, then Émilie, Rosalie, and I'll go last."

They nodded. Émilie started feeling nervous again. She'd never left France before and was terrified at the thought of having to make new friends. Rosalie took her hand comfortingly as Draco disappeared in a swoosh of green and the mini-Granger gulped audibly.

"Do not be afraid," Rosalie said. "Your _père_ is waiting for 'oo and I am to follow."

Émilie nodded and did as her mother had instructed, followed immediately by her nanny. The last one to leave, Hermione took one last look at the main sitting room, feeling nostalgic. She wouldn't sell it, she _couldn't_ sell Helaine Manor: her daughter was in love with the place.

'_As am I.'_

She shook herself, stepping into the emerald flames and articulating the name of her new, temporary home.

"Malfoy Villa!"

The familiar spinning and roaring sounds died out and she stepped out into the living room of the home Draco had mentioned to Harry. Technically, it was a cottage, but was larger than a normal Muggle house – though still smaller than both Malfoy and Helaine Manors. She had to admit though, when she'd come here to check it out a few days ago, that it gave off a rather spacious, yet cosy feeling. It was newly refurbished and _beautiful_.

"Wow!" Émilie stood in awe. "It's so pretty!"

She broke out of her reverie, hugged her father, and then jumped away, squealing as a cracking sound echoed in the room. She stared at the excited creature that had appeared, her eyes widening like saucers.

"Master Malfoy," the female house-elf said, bowing slightly. "You are back to stay? Chausie has anticipated your return master, and the rooms are ready."

Hermione groaned and Draco looked at her pointedly, as though daring her to complain.

"What?" He asked innocently. "She came with the house."

"You do realise 'Chausie' is a breed of cat, right?"

He shrugged. "She likes it."

"She's not a _pet_, Malfoy."

The house-elf realised suddenly that Draco hadn't come back alone and bowed to Hermione, a stunned Rosalie, and then an excited Émilie. "Chausie is a member of the family, miss…"

"Hermione, call me Hermione."

"Miss Hermione."

"See?" Draco said, smirking. "You're getting along already!"

"My name's Émilie," Émilie said, bending over to peer closely at the house-elf. "You're really a house-elf?"

Chausie nodded, her ears flapping. "Of course Lady Émilie."

The blonde girl squealed happily. "Oh! Lady! _Mère_, _pouvons-nous garder son_?" **[A/N: "Can we keep her?"]**

"Why did she appear now?" Hermione asked and Draco grinned. He'd ordered Chausie not to appear until now, so that Hermione hadn't seen her before moving in. It was too late to back out now.

She narrowed her eyes at him, catching onto the meaning behind that grin of his. "How very Slytherin of you."

"_Mère_!" Émilie shouted, annoyed at being ignored. "Can we keep her?"

Hermione moved her gaze from Draco's smug expression to her daughter's hopeful one and sighed, outvoted. "_Bien sûr_," she said, and Draco frowned at her. **[A/N: "Of course."]**

"Oh thank-you, thank-you!" Émilie hugged her mother, her father, and then Chausie, who looked rather overwhelmed at the attention, but somewhat pleased.

"You're not going to start that up again, are you?" Draco asked, talking about Hermione and Émilie sharing conversations in French when either one of them was annoyed with him.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Come Émilie," Rosalie said, offering her hand and reluctantly, the little girl left the house-elf behind as she went with her nanny to explore their new home.

Hermione glanced at the now silent house-elf nervously as Draco mumbled a slight obscenity and shook his head. "I need to see Boulstridge."

Padraig Boulstridge was one of his lawyers, and the one he deferred to the most. He trusted the man… as much as one could trust a lawyer anyway. And as far as Draco was concerned, he was also the best in the business. Padraig was the man to speak to with this business involving Astoria, and Draco needed to get things kick started.

"Right now?"

Draco nodded. "I need to see my lawyers immediately, and then pop in on the Board of Trustees." He kissed her quickly. "I'll be back before midday and we can spend the rest of the day getting settled in. When do you want to do the whole family meet and greet?"

Malfoy Industries had its hands in a lot of project these days, but the big money came from the buying department – buying up assets and reselling. It was something he relished actually, scouring the world (in a business suit, not some roughneck costume) to find assets to resell – he supposed in that way, it wasn't too different from what Hermione had been doing, just without handing the profits over to charity.

And a part of him felt like he needed to see Scorpius. He still wanted to, but decided for now, it would be best not to bring him up in conversations with his future wife. Seeing him at any point before this farce was over might hurt his chances on stopping Astoria, and he was sure she'd been filling the boy's head with lies about him. Would Scorpius even want to see him?

It was a lame excuse, but in the end, he knew it had to be done. The guilt didn't show on his face however, and he resolved to checking later what he could do about that. But for now…

"Tomorrow," Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. "Rosalie and I will take Émilie to The Burrow, would you like to come?"

He shook his head. "I do like my face the way it is, Granger."

"They're not going to hex you!"

"Are you sure about that? What about Weaslebee?"

Hermione had no answer to that and sighed. "Fine, but after I'm done there, _we_ are going to the Malfoy manor. You can't put it off," she said, as he grumbled.

"I know. I'll inform them we're coming. You do _not_ want to deal with my mother when she gets uninvited guests."

"Like I was even considering turning up unannounced." She rolled her eyes. "I'll send Arthur an owl and you do the same for your parents, now _go_ – get to work. You can make up for your absence later."

"We don't have separate bedrooms now," he said, winking. "I'll take you up on that later tonight."

She blushed furiously. "Get out of here."

"Master Malfoy will return in time for lunch, yes?" Chausie suddenly asked, excitement lighting up her eyes. "Chausie will fix a lunch for the family, you'll see!"

Draco stared at the house-elf wistfully before she disappeared. "Merlin I've missed having house-elves."

… …

… …

"Rosette is here!" James Potter jumped up, startling his mother and ran at the door. "Rosette! Rosette!"

He threw his arms around Émilie, who was stunned not only by the strength of his reaction (he _never_ ran at her in an attempt to bowl her over in greeting) but the _quaintness_ of The Burrow. She'd heard about it and had pictures of the Weasleys and Potters taken in this small home, but to see it in person was different; she could feel the warmth of family that the Weasleys had put into it.

Hermione and Rosalie were behind Émilie, both smiling knowingly at the tender scene, but a moment later, the little blonde girl was having trouble breathing.

"Don't smother her James," Ginny said, coming up behind her son to pry him loose. "It's good to see you Émilie. Why don't you come meet everyone?"

Hermione nodded to her friend as James started humming in excitement. He loved the fact that his Rosette was in England now, and his dream of going to Hogwarts with her was never more real than it was now. _Now_, she couldn't go to that horrid Beauxbatons he'd heard about. She belonged with _him_ after all. He'd been begging his mother to annoy Hermione about returning to England for a year, ever since he'd decided he liked the blonde "princess". It was their little secret, but what he didn't realise, was that everyone who spent time in the same room as the two of them could see it for themselves.

"_Merci_ Ginny," she curtsied slightly and giggled as James rolled his eyes.

Rosalie took Émilie's hand and they followed Ginny. James trailed cheerfully, and Hermione moved away. She didn't care to speak to Ronald, but Harry was right to suggest getting this all out now would be best for her, so she didn't have to deal with him later. And dammit, Draco just _had_ to go and agree with him! She still didn't get what part of Émilie's heritage was any business of the _weasel_.

'_Merlin, I sound like Draco…'_

She motioned to Ron as Molly Weasley was introduced to "Émilie Rose Granger" for the first time – though she'd known about her for years.

"Welcome," Molly said, embracing the little blonde in a tight, motherly hug.

She was so adorable, despite the fact that she clearly took after her father, and the Weasley grandmother couldn't help herself. It was just instinct as she held her more tightly than she should – after all, she wasn't _her_ grandmother. All worries over Émilie's parentage ebbed away as the little girl hugged her back. She took after Hermione, she was warm, and accommodating… that was enough.

"_Merci_," Émilie said again, not knowing what else to say; finally, she started to struggle, trying to pull out of the hug. What was is with these people and hugging?

"Ooh," the older woman pulled away. "Aren't you cute?"

"You're going to _kill_ her with kindness," James griped, earning himself a bout of laughter from everyone who heard him. Then he darted forward for another hug as Molly eagerly rattled off the names of the present Weasleys to Émilie that she had not met yet.

Meanwhile, Ron followed Hermione into the kitchen and she immediately whispered "Muffliato" to get some privacy. He raised his eyebrows.

"Must be important for you to use _that_," he said.

She nodded. The truth was that she didn't want Ron's tactlessness and baritone voice to echo out into the living room. But this conversation would be easier on her if they could avoid the tempers and name calling this time. Every time they talked, it always led to anger. He thought, since it'd been six years that she should have forgiven him by now. Now, it wasn't like Ronald Weasley was some evil git who thought cheating on her was for her own good, but she never saw a hint of remorse in him since that day. They'd talked on the phone a few times and eventually, she'd started owling him back around the holidays when he made the initial contact, and when he remembered her birthday. He _had_ mumbled once that he regretted it, but there was no "I'm sorry", "can you forgive me?", or even "I was an idiot"; he just assumed that it wasn't as big a deal as it really was.

It might've been easier to move on if he hadn't married Lavender less than a year after their annulment and didn't currently have a child with her, and another on the way. This was why Hermione hadn't believed he regretted being with Lavender – he was clearly besotted by his son, as well as Hugo's mother. All she wanted was a little honesty, with a side of guilt… but neither was in his vocabulary.

Hermione Granger had however, gotten over him. She felt nothing for him and could care less about whether or not he was happy. The last six years had taught her better than that – Émilie had taught her better. But the bitter part of her was still there. She supposed if he died tomorrow she'd review that, but apart from that _highly_ unlikely event, she wanted to keep it going – it was more of a defence mechanism than anything else.

"Well, spit it out," Ron said, when Hermione was taking too long to speak.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. I only came in here to tell you something that you'll find out soon enough anyway." She took a deep breath. "When I ran away to France, I was already pregnant with Émilie."

"Huh?"

And he was right to be confused. He might've thought for an instant that _he_ was Émilie's father, if he didn't already know that they hadn't slept together for awhile before the wedding, and she'd fled the country more than two months after the annulment.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Hermione mentally slapped him. If only she could do that for real. "Because I thought you should know, before the Daily Prophet starts making a fuss, that her father is Draco Malfoy."

He blinked heavily, not sure about her sincerity. "You… fucked the ferret?"

Crude.

She nodded.

Ron pulled a face. "What are you, an idiot?"

'_Here it comes.'_

"This is going to get old fast," she sneered in a very _Malfoy_ way.

"Did you do it before or after you signed on the dotted line?" He asked insolently.

"Fuck you Ronald," she snapped. "I'm not the one who committed adultery. I ran into Draco after _you_ shagged Lavender and after I annulled our stupid mistake of a marriage. Don't go getting all high and mighty on me, like you never did anything wrong. You may never have apologised or admitted your stupidity, but we both know it was _your_ fault."

She groaned, remembering that Ron knew things about her that, if leaked to the Daily Prophet, could haunt her for the rest of her life. Their sex life had never been something to write home about, but Ron was good at exaggerating the truth into something people wanted to read… or hear.

"I never had to answer to you before Ronald Weasley," Hermione snapped. "Why would I start now?"

"You had a child with the ferret," he said, ignoring her comment. "How do you expect me to react?"

"It's none of your business."

"Then by all means, don't tell me _any_ of it. I don't know why you thought I just _had_ to know! It's disgusting enough that–"

And that was when something inside of her snapped.

"You know what?" She half screamed. "I don't know either, considering it _isn't_ your business! I don't know what I was thinking, hoping you might take this like an adult and not make it about you! Nothing I've ever done or said has ever been good enough for you. Aargh! You'll never change, you'll never grow up, and I am sick and tired of hoping one day you'll feel sorry for the way you treated me! I don't care anymore Ronald Weasley, and obviously you never _did_!"

"And why should I?" He said just as loudly, his face turning a distinct shade of scarlet. "Anyone who gets involved with a Malfoy is just a fucking slut anyway!"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and for an instant, he looked mortified by his own outburst. But a moment later, remembering that his ex-wife had fucked Draco Malfoy shortly after their annulment, the anger was back.

Hermione stood there, shell shocked at his words, unable to form an appropriate response. She'd expected the usual annoyance at the knowledge of her night with Draco… then Émilie's parentage. But _this_?

Satisfied, but still fuming, Ron spun on his heels with every intention of storming out of The Burrow only to find his family had come in, despite the Muffliato; it looked like, during the ranting, Ginny had removed the spell. Hermione looked around, terrified that her daughter had heard Ron call her that, but didn't see any of the kids, realising with a sigh of relief that Rosalie must've taken them out back. That woman knew when trouble was brewing… like a sixth sense. Hermione made a mental reminder to give her a raise.

And then she looked at Ginerva Potter. The redhead was positively livid, and even Molly was terrified by the expression on her youngest. Ron narrowed his eyes at her, but before he could leave, she drew back her hand and slapped him _hard_ across the face.

Hermione could've kissed her.

Harry came up behind his wife and hugged her, kissing her ear and whispering to her. She seemed to calm down enough from his words and let him steer her back into the living room.

"I'll tell Rosalie the coast is clear," George said, throwing a dirty look toward his younger brother as even Molly looked furious at the words that had spilled out of Ron's mouth.

Ron touched the side of his face thoughtfully, ignoring the throbbing pain. Ginny had slapped him! The world had gone to pot! But he was shifting uncomfortably at the return of the mini Weasleys, Potters and… was it Granger or Malfoy? He felt like he'd fallen into a black hole, and so sauntered over to Hugo, who was looking at him warily, having noted the way everyone was looking at his father.

"Will you stay for awhile?" Harry asked Ron, not sure if he wanted to know the answer, but positive he didn't want the silence in the room to continue.

Ron glanced at him. "I'm not sure if that's such a good idea. I might say something else even stupider."

He gave a nervous chuckle and Harry cocked his eyebrows at him, mildly surprised. Ron looked around, his gaze inadvertently meeting a set of eyes he'd never seen before. He couldn't decide if they were pale blue, or light grey, but they definitely reminded him of Draco Malfoy. Just like her hair did, and that expression of indifference she was wearing on her face.

He swallowed heavily, feeling guilty. But as usual, he wouldn't admit it, and nodded to Harry as his mother moved toward him, to whisper her disapproval of his comments.

Half an hour later (it was almost midday), the meet and greet was long over, and thankfully, the tension had all but disappeared.

Émilie was ignoring the red head man who had taken to occasionally surveying her like she was an alien from another planet and not a six year old girl.

James whispered in her ear. "Knut for your thoughts."

She whispered back. "Who is that red man and why is he staring at me like that?"

James turned to look at Ronald Weasley and chuckled. "Uncle Ron? He doesn't like you because you're a Malfoy."

"I am not a Malfoy," she said.

"Yet." James winked at her, kissed her cheek swiftly, and sauntered away, chuckling at her embarrassed face.

"Let's go," Hermione told Émilie and Rosalie a few minutes later, "pick up that good for nothing ferret–" (Émilie giggled and Ron made a distinctive snorting sound) "–and _drag_ him to the manor, shall we?"

… …

… …

Narcissa Malfoy couldn't believe her eyes when she spotted the little girl standing between her son and Hermione Granger. She was standing straight, her eyes surveying the room before resting on the only other blonde witch in the room. She was also dressed nicely, in a sundress and footwear; severely contrasting the last six year old non-pureblood Narcissa had met. That was actually more recent than not.

The blonde woman glanced at her son. All his owl had said was that he would be joining her and his father for lunch and to have the house-elves prepare food for six people. It would appear that the silent woman standing half a foot from the little girl was some kind of nanny. She'd heard Muggles hired such things.

"Draco, introductions if you would."

He nodded dispassionately and complied, making sure to include Hermione's "reintroduction", knowing that his mother wasn't so worried about that, as well as Rosalie. He left Émilie to last, and she bobbed softly as he spoke.

"And this is Émilie Rose Granger… my daughter."

His mother gasped and Lucius peered at the girl without stepping closer.

"D-Draco?" Narcissa stuttered, her hand on her heart. "W-when?"

"Before my wedding," he stated emotionlessly, though inside he was bursting with pride. "The night before."

Émilie, having no concept of the act of sex, and therefore nothing of what he was talking about, looked curiously up at him. He hadn't been very respectful to his parents since his divorce, and ever since meeting Émilie, he found more reason to be bitter. But he wasn't going to start anything with Hermione or his daughter in the room. Later, when they rested up in the villa, he planned to tell his parents _exactly_ what he thought of them.

And _then_ of course, the coup de grâce would come. He didn't feel any more comfortable in having to explain his infertility to his parents than Hermione had felt telling Ronald Weasley she'd gotten knocked up by the one and only Draco Malfoy.

He smirked inwardly at that.

Standing behind and to the side of Narcissa, Lucius glanced between his son and the still silent Hermione before settling his eyes on Émilie (ignoring the nanny). She did a short curtsy, and spoke quickly in French, respectfully thanking them for inviting her, her mother and Rosalie into their home. For a fleeting moment, he felt a pull on his heart, remembering how he'd felt finding out that Scorpius wasn't his grandchild, but it disappeared in the next second when Émilie took Hermione's hand in hers.

"_Mère_," Émilie said to her mother, remembering her father's warning about the older Malfoy, "are we all to turn into stone?"

Draco chuckled as his parents' eyes widened in shock. What was she talking about? Émilie was referring to the fact that they were all standing around, unmoving and silent. He loved this quirk of hers.

The rest of the lunch went smoothly, with everyone speaking civilly to each other. Rosalie was a part of the family, as Émilie had haughtily stated when Lucius complained about her eating at the same table as them, but that was as obnoxious as Draco's parents seemed to decide to be, for the moment. He was just glad nobody was screaming. He didn't want to explain to Émilie the meaning of the choice words he'd heard his parents call Muggleborns and such over the years. He'd rather forget that.

As time went on, Émilie was more and more annoyed at the tension, and silently agreed with her père that her grandparents did not like her mother. She spent the entire course of the afternoon trying to think on how to show them she was better than they thought and as a result, fell into a silent, musing version of herself.

Hermione knew her daughter was scheming in that brilliant little head of hers, and shared a few glances with Draco, trying to tell him without words. But he just smiled at her knowingly, like he knew something she didn't. Had he figured out Émilie's not-so-subtle nuances already?

They must have spent a lot more time together at the estate in France than she'd initially realised.

His acceptance of her was more than Hermione could've ever hoped for, and the fact that he never tried to dispute the fact that she and Émilie were a package deal was reason enough to give him a go, in her opinion. And now that she was in love with him, she knew there was no going back. Her parentage, Émilie's parentage… it didn't matter to him and Hermione had not been happier in her entire life than she was right now, that she'd known this gorgeous man for most of her life. There was so much pain in his heart right now, and as it turned out, Hermione was one of only two people in the world capable of giving him back his hope.

This perhaps endeared him to her more than she would have thought possible. Still, as much as he had obviously bonded with his only child, Hermione was worried about what was going to happen now.

Draco had already told her that he still held all the cards when it came to the Malfoy name, as she hadn't known until recently that Harry had agreed to help Lucius keep out of Azkaban in return for him immediately forfeiting all his rights as the Malfoy head. Narcissa of course, kept out of prison because of Harry's life debt to her. She'd saved his life, and in a sense, him stepping in and convincing Kingsley Shacklebolt (who was hell bent on sending _both_ of Draco's parents to Azkaban) to reduce her sentence in favour of one that did not include incarceration _did_ save her life. She wasn't the kind that would survive prison, even after the Dementors were permanently removed as the guards.

So the woman had kept her dignity intact. But she hadn't humbled at all, from what Hermione could tell.

After luncheon was over, Hermione did as she'd promised herself she would do and left Draco alone with his parents. She made an excuse to have to leave and took Émilie's hand in hers as Rosalie looked so much happier knowing they would soon be leaving. Draco narrowed his eyes at her. He couldn't hide behind common courtesy and small talk all day, after all, he knew. But this was downright _Slytherin_ of the woman, and he wondered if she'd engineered this from the start – to give him over an hour to stew in his thoughts and then leave abruptly.

He intended to tell them everything Astoria had done and was doing, but had no intention whatsoever of trying to compromise with them, as he knew Hermione wanted. They were not happy that he'd slept with a Muggleborn, let alone had a child with her, and he knew that the moment Hermione, Émilie and Rosalie were out of the manor, his father at least, would be on him about dumping them and finding a "_real woman_".

Narcissa surprised him however, by hugging Émilie goodbye. The little girl hugged her back hopefully.

"_Au revoir, mémé_," Émilie said, hoping she would respond.

Narcissa looked down at her, almost teary. "_Au revoir_, little one. _Veux-tu venir me rendre visite_?" **[A/N: "Will you come visit me?]**

Émilie grinned happily. "_Bien sûr_! Right _mère_?"

Hermione smiled at her daughter's enthusiasm. "Yes, of course."

Downright cranky, Draco ushered them away as Rosalie took Émilie's hand and they left the manor in order to apparate. He was getting more and more annoyed with their use of French in front of him, and Hermione _knew_ it.

Alone with his parents, he could only sigh. _'Here goes.'_

"Let's move to the sunroom," he suggested, before they could say anything.

"Of course," Narcissa said eagerly. "Krepta!"

A male house-elf appeared.

"Tea in the sunroom!"

"Yes, mistress."

Krepta Disapparated and Draco let his mother lead him by his arm. Once they were seated and the house-elf had left them a jug of hot tea and several cups, Lucius spoke first.

"You have some explaining to do."

"Lucius, please," Narcissa said pleadingly. "We have a granddaughter, don't make Draco regret introducing her to us."

He just shook his head, the sneer on his face reminiscent of the look he'd given Draco any time he hesitated to call a mudblood a mudblood. "What were you thinking?"

His wife threw her hands in the air in exasperation. But Draco interrupted her before she could rant at him.

"Yes, I slept with Hermione Granger the night before I married Astoria. No, I don't regret it. Émilie is a wonderful child, and a beautiful, precious person, just like her mother. I know this is difficult for you to hear, but I _am_ in love with Hermione Granger, and I'm going to marry her, with or without your consent."

He inhaled deeply, ignoring their stunned faces. "I came here today because there's more going on than just Astoria trying to take the Malfoy estate. She's trying to move Scorpius into the position of Malfoy heir and the law she's using will allow it because he was conceived during our marriage, regardless of her infidelity–"

"You will marry again," Narcissa interrupted, the corner of her mouth twitching when she thought of Hermione becoming a Malfoy. She dare not say 'mudblood' in front of Draco, so the thought of the word left her mind. "What does it matter what that _woman_ does? You can still have a son, and–"

An aching on his heart made Draco's voice harden. "_No_, mother, I cannot." He _really_ did not want to repeat this again. If Hermione had stayed, she would have done this for him, and he understood now, why she wouldn't tempt herself to relieve him of this. These were _his_ parents, for better or worse, and hearing it from him would be easier than from someone they'd been taught to despise. "I am sterile. Astoria saw to it during our marriage."

Narcissa's hand flew to her mouth and she let out an audible gasp, her husband staring at their son intently, and disbelieving.

"S-sterile?"

"Yes mother. Émilie is the only child I will ever have."

The words were bitter in his mouth, and he kept his eyes on his hands, not wanting to look at them any longer.

"Oh Draco!" Narcissa stood up, knelt down in front of him, and embraced her distraught son.

Didn't she understand that he blamed her? That he blamed them both?

"You blame us for that," Lucius said simply, and his wife pulled away to look into Draco's eyes as she gripped his hand.

"Is this true Draco?"

It would seem that his father knew him better than Draco realised.

"I shouldn't have listened to you," Draco said bitterly, and his mother let go of him. "I shouldn't have married Astoria. I should've stayed with Hermione, liked I'd wanted to and…" He looked up at them. "I hate myself for that. But yes, I blame you both, and I blame Astoria, and again, myself. I wasted those six years. Émilie grew up in France without me, and I should have been there for her, but because of that _stupid_ pureblood propaganda I will never know what it's like to hold my newborn child and I hate that you coerced me into a loveless marriage just to satisfy an outdated bigotry!"

He was shaking visibly now, his parents watching silently as he continued. "I hate myself for letting you convince me. But I can't take it back." He tried desperately to stop himself from shaking. "I'm not looking for anything from either of you, not anymore." He stared into his mother's tear soaked eyes. "I won't try to stop you from seeing Émilie, but this is it: no more pureblood bull, no more worrying about the Malfoy name. It's already tarnished beyond repair."

Draco stood up, his mother quickly following suit. He realised he hadn't touched his tea, but no longer cared.

"The next time you are in the same room as Hermione," he said evenly, the hollowness in his voice terrifying. "You will show her the respect she deserves."

And with that, he left Malfoy Manor, apparating home, knowing his family would be waiting for him.

… …

… …

Harry Potter only had himself to blame. He was the one abolishing the pureblood marriage law. It wasn't like every pureblood family followed this law, but it made it easier for the children of these more traditional families to say "no" to arranged marriages if they so wished, without being disinherited. His motivation behind tearing down this decree was slightly selfish, if not mostly selfless. One of his closest friends had recently admitted to Harry he was in love with a pureblood witch; her parents were of the "traditional" type, who would disown her for marrying him. And she didn't want to be disinherited. Harry had never been as close with Seamus Finnigan during their time at Hogwarts as he would've liked, considering… things. And once they'd graduated after the war, they'd gone their separate ways, amicably of course. But only a year later, he'd run into Seamus who was out with his then girlfriend, Susan Bones and the three of them had had a laugh over Butterbeer and memories.

It was after Ronald Weasley cheated on Hermione that Harry had started spending more time with Seamus, as well as Dean Thomas. The two had been close since Hogwarts. So it was with vigour that Harry set about helping Seamus when he wanted to marry Sorcha McLoughlin; she was fresh out of Hogwarts, and there was a ten year gap in their ages.

So, what was it that he blamed himself for? Getting involved with the problems surrounding Draco Malfoy was overstepping the line. Percy Weasley had informed him what he needed to do to stop Astoria and it was not pretty. The abolishment of the marriage law shouldn't affect Draco because he was in control of the Malfoy estate. But Astoria snaking into the picture, and her son being of both Greengrass and Flint descent, now looking to become the Malfoy heir, brought it crashing back to that unfair law. It was enough to give him a headache.

The two issues were no longer separate in his mind, thanks to Malfoy.

Perhaps this was his punishment; firstly for telling Émilie about her father, and then accidentally letting it slip around Malfoy. If he hadn't looked into this, someone else would be fussing through paperwork right now, searching for a loop hole. He could've been the monetary or influential support that kept it going while someone else did the hard work. But no! Harry Potter's name was all over the damn thing! _He'd_ signed on the bloody dotted line, petitioning for the change in laws, and now, according to the law, the minister for magic and every damned loophole he could find, _he_ had to sort this out!

Harry Potter was going to save Draco Malfoy… again!

He didn't think someone who saved the whole blooming world should ever be punished!

He seethed on this, sitting behind his desk; he was the head of the Head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but had been sticking his nose in other departments in his "crusades". There was little to no grumbling about this though, which wasn't a surprise, but at the same time made him uncomfortable.

'_Maybe I am nutters.'_

The knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter!"

Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas entered and both grinned at him. Right… he had planned to have lunch with them today, catch up, and talk about what was going to happen now. Dean was happily married to Luna Lovegood (Thomas now, of course), and she was heavily pregnant with their first child. Just last week she'd spent half the day agonising over decorations for the nursery with Ginny, which wouldn't have bothered Harry if she had done it at her own house.

Harry sighed. His friends had started talking and he wasn't listening. He tuned back in to their conversation.

"Isn't Neville coming with us?" Seamus asked absentmindedly.

Dean shook his head. "He's still in Egypt."

These days, Neville Longbottom was the epitome of the "spirit of adventure". Sure, he had married Hannah Abbott, like everyone thought he would, but the two were reluctant to fall pregnant and loved gallivanting all over the world. He'd turned down a position as the Herbology Professor at Hogwarts to travel, but eventually, he wanted to return to Great Britain. Every time Harry talked to him lately, he mentioned it, so the "chosen one" felt confident the day for his return was near.

Not that he thought any less of him. It was his life, no-one else's. A lot of people looked down on him for it, including his grandmother, who was getting fed up waiting for great grandchildren. It never ceased to amaze Harry how much people _still_ frowned on each other for their choices in life. He supposed they didn't have to be a Death Eater to be narrow-minded.

"Are you Harry Potter?"

A squeaky voice broke through his thoughts as Harry looked up, startled. The door to his office had opened, and a ministry official, who looked more like a teenage version of Stan Shunpike, was holding out a parchment to him.

Harry nodded and the man beamed. Still, after all these years, people looked straight to his scar.

"This is for you," the man said. "It's from the minister. He said its top secret, and didn't want to send it on a memo."

That was strange.

Harry took the parchment and the man bowed himself out of the room. He unsealed the message as Seamus and Dean stared curiously at from the other side, unable to read its contents. It was about the new decree; the law he wanted to abolish was protected by so many ancient spells and enforced so vehemently that it was irritating enough just to think to get rid of it, let alone _try_. And as Seamus often said sarcastically (though gratefully): "If anybody can do it, it's the great Harry Potter!"

"Raincheck on lunch," Harry said, standing up. "I have to get over to Hermione's place. Change of plans," he corrected, seeing that Seamus was confused, although Dean understood. Wasn't Seamus's mother a Muggleborn?

"What's going on?" Dean asked.

"Astoria's a bitch is what's going on."

… …

… …

Ever the emotional, angsty puppet master, Draco was feeling nothing but regret these days. Regret that he hadn't stayed with Hermione after their night together in her apartment six years ago, regret that he still went ahead with his arranged marriage, despite the fact that it wasn't what he'd wanted, and guilt that he'd fallen for Astoria's conniving ways, leaving himself open to her scheming. Sure, he had a daughter despite the woman's scheming, and he loved Émilie more than he could ever express with words, but he was never going to have a son. He was never going to pass on the Malfoy name, which wasn't so bad, now that he thought of it, but it did leave him feeling bitter toward his ex-wife and kind of hollow at the same time.

Émilie gripped his hand tightly, her eyes widening as she spotted Astoria.

The woman was beauty personified. Hermione felt so plain and insignificant by comparison. Astoria Greengrass was a beautiful witch. But all thoughts of feeling inferior to this ex-Malfoy flew out the window when the blonde screwed up her face in disgust.

Really, who took a porcelain doll, twisted its features, and decided it was something other than absurd? She did not look like the delicate doll that had entered the room only seconds before. And Draco had put up with that sneer for six years? Hermione felt disgusted, a wave of anger building inside of her, directed at his parents. They hadn't been in charge of the Malfoy legacy, and yet had still poked, prodded, and pressured Draco into a marriage he clearly hadn't wanted in the first place.

It was disgusting.

And this woman walking elegantly toward them had ruined his life. She had lashed out spitefully at her own pressures to marry someone she didn't love, but instead of bottling it like a high society woman was expected to do, or even lashing out at her parents, who were actually to blame, she'd taken it out on the only other person who could understand where her anger was coming from.

Hermione had not hated someone she'd never met before, and this was a first.

In the years before Voldemort had come back, she had learnt to hate Draco, in her own way, because of his treatment of her, but she wasn't so furious as to wish him dead. And after that snake was revived, she reserved all her hatred for _him_ instead. Finally, once Voldemort was dead, she let go of all her hate and focused on rebuilding all she'd lost.

It was a wonderful feeling, a light, almost carefree existence. Even when it shattered around her because of Ronald Weasley's insensitivity, she still held it together. Sure, she'd gotten plastered and had sex with one of the people she used to hate, but there were worst ways to drown her sorrows, right? It certainly _had_ been a memorable night, and because of Émilie, she wouldn't go back and change it for the world. What she would do was stop Draco's wedding. Not that she'd have been listened to; she'd have just been seen as some mudblood, trying to get in the way of some pureblood family only after Draco because of his money.

She sighed, ignoring the distaste on Astoria's face as said woman sneered at her mere presence.

"I told you not to bring the mudblood Draco," she said.

Émilie's eyes widened and she glanced at her mother. That was a word she'd been told only bad people say.

"This is not your house to dictate who can and cannot enter, _Astoria_," he snapped back even more vehemently. "And if you'd bothered to show proper etiquette by giving notice rather than a two minute warning before coming I'm sure I could have found some back-end alley to speak with you instead, somewhere more appropriate for this discussion."

"Well you know now," she said, her temper salivating on every syllable. "So send them away. And who is this _child_?"

"None of your business. Just say what you have to say and then _leave_."

"I trust you received my letter?" Astoria said, her sigh coming out ragged.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I must have accidentally burned it."

A truly vindictive sneer twisted her features. He was riling her up, trying to make her lash out so she would snap. And when Astoria Greengrass lost her temper, she put her foot in her mouth… every time.

She reached into her robes and extracted a piece of parchment, handing it over. "This is a copy of the decree I told you about. In a fortnight's time, you are to hand over control of every aspect of Malfoy Industries to my father, who is the overseer of Scorpius's inheritance, as well as all assets attached to the Malfoy name. It's signed by the head of the Marriage Law and Contract Law Department in the Ministry of Magic, and co-signed by the appropriate people."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione however, reached forward and snatched the parchment from the woman, ignoring the intensity of her snarling.

"How dare you, you–"

"Shut it," Draco snapped, and she glowered at him.

Hermione read through the parchment. "I know this law. It's only applicable if Draco isn't married."

Astoria frowned at her. "Liar. And even if that were true, who would marry him, _you_? Ha! His parents wouldn't let him. The mudblood with a child out of wedlock? The courts won't recognise any sham of a marriage between you two."

"The courts recognise all marriages."

Hermione looked behind Astoria as her best friend came into view.

"_Potter_!" Draco whined like a five year old. "How the bloody hell did you get in here? I have wards for a reason, you know!"

"Uncle Harry!" Émilie fought her desire to run to him.

He smiled at her, and then stared into Astoria's face as she swivelled to face him. "I think you'll find that this couple is engaged to be married before the fourteen days will be over. Bribing officials and placing the Imperius Curse on those who wouldn't accept your money will earn you a place in Azkaban, Miss Greengrass."

She hissed at him. "I have done nothing of the sort!"

"Oh, I can't prove it yet, but I will. You'll be hearing from me soon."

She growled, pointing her finger at him as though it were her wand. "This isn't over, Potter. You're going to regret sticking all four of eyes into this. Just because the world thinks you're a hero doesn't mean you're invincible."

She spared Draco a final glare before stalking out of Malfoy Villa. The Malfoy heir frowned at Harry. "I had the situation under control."

"But you let me carry on anyway? How sporting of you."

"Don't push your luck, Potter. Lucky for you I wanted Hermione and Émilie here when she came or you'd be investigating a murder."

"And why did we have to see that?" Hermione asked, incensed.

"Because I'm hardly going to kill the wicked witch with Émilie watching," he snarled back. "It's no worse than you leaving me alone with my _parents_!"

"I liked _mémé_ Narcissa," Émilie said thoughtfully and all eyes turned to her.

"Harry," Hermione said, "I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason for your coming here."

He nodded and handed her the scroll that the minister had sent him. She passed over the one she'd snatched from Astoria to him, and Draco pouted.

"Hey! I want to read that!"

"She's basically just told us what this says," Hermione said. "But there's no loophole, she's already exploited everything that can be exploited. How is this supposed to help?"

"Percy had an idea," Harry said, and then rushed in quickly to stop his best friend from yelling at him. "I told him about Astoria because I knew he could help, and he has! Percy won't tell anyone else about this, it's his job after all, and I trust him."

"What's the idea, Potter?" Draco asked, Émilie now moving to him and leaning against him. This always calmed him and he lost his sneer.

"Well, it starts with you marrying Hermione," Harry said cheekily, "and it ends with Astoria with not a Knut in the world."

Draco looked down at Émilie and over at Rosalie who, in all the drama, had remained freakishly quiet. His eyes settled on Hermione, who was looking decidedly calm all of a sudden.

"Okay," he said, snapping his eyes back to Potter. "My life in your hands Potter; what do you need from me?"

**A/N: Sorry to leave it there. But cliff hangers are good, **_**oui**_**? ;)  
><strong>**I love this story very much (weird words and all) so please bear with me and keep reviewing. Lotsa love! ^_^**

**R&R.**


	4. The Serpent's Victory

**A/N: Yay! I updated! …FINALLY! ;)  
>Sorry about that: I feel like a house-elf – the whole slaving away all day thing, lol. I don't like forcing fics, which is one of the reasons this final chapter is so late – that and I ended up rewriting it. Well whatever, it's done now, so enjoy! ^_^ <strong>

…

– Part 4 –  
>.:. The Serpent's Victory .:.<p>

…

The ministry for magic was terrifying to look at. Hermione Granger stood in front of the lobby booth, just _staring_ at it: the warm, supporting arms of Draco Malfoy keeping her from turning around and running in the opposite direction. This was happening… it was really happening.

'_Somebody wake me up.'_

Cinderella had had a fairy godmother on her side when she took on the world – she also had a to-die-for ball gown, not to mention a Prince in an outdated fairytale about true love. Hermione wasn't Cinderella. She wasn't even close. She was born with book smarts, grew up in comfortable lifestyle (she was no Malfoy, but in the Muggle world, her parents could afford whatever they needed… short of being loaded), and had her academic plans set in stone the moment she found out she was a witch. In short, she'd never had a reason to complain.

Hermione had also never daydreamed about her picture perfect wedding to the stereotypical prince. That was for girls who didn't want a career, or so she'd told herself. It honestly hadn't occurred to her that women could do both (her parents were old fashioned, despite being open minded).

But all that changed when she started seeing Ronald Weasley. He would push and she would pull: in the end, all they did was argue, as Hermione wasn't ready to give up having a career just because his mother had not mastered the art of _not_ falling pregnant. But he _had_ given her a reason to want a perfect wedding for herself, and that happy ending she'd read about in books.

And look where it got her – cheated on, pregnant to her former school enemy, and facing having to raise her child alone, believing that happy endings were for story books and Harry Potter.

Damn that Harry Potter – he was so deliriously happy about his own life that "fixing" the shambles of other people's lives was instinct with him. And Ginerva "Ginny" Weasley-Potter was his partner in crime. But she supposed she shouldn't be too angry with them: their shared drive had brought Hermione the resolution with Draco that she had right now. She just hoped it lasted.

'_Where was I?'_

Oh yes: Hermione was about to pass through the lobby of the ministry for magic, on the arm of her fiancé. Draco Malfoy… the name always _had_ rolled off of her tongue easily. She'd called him Draco long before either Harry or Ron had even given up trying to figure out what he was up to with the Death Eaters. Of course, she also called him Malfoy, but the first point still stood.

Walking through the ministry wasn't as much of a spectacle as say, doing so in Diagon Alley, as what the Daily Prophet was allowed to report from here (not to mention take pictures of) was strictly regulated by the ministry. Hermione had two points of reference for being an object of gossip – the times at Hogwarts whenever Rita Skeeter's articles about Harry included her as well, and immediately after the war was over, when the cameras seemed to pop out at her, Harry and Ron, no matter what precautions she seemed to take.

It was far easier avoiding Voldemort and his followers.

"Relax," Draco whispered to her, knowing he was probably wasting his breath.

'_Just ignore them,'_ she thought – a mantra she'd recited to Harry back at Hogwarts.

The curious faces were limited due to the volume of people coming and going on every level. Bypassing the lobby, the atrium, and The Fountain of Magical Brethren on the first level, they only needed to go down to level two – the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which included the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services. This level also included the Department of Marital Affairs, which was responsible for allowing authorizing marriage licenses, among other things – the Marriage Law and Contract Law Department was a division of this that specifically dealt with the contracts themselves.

Astoria Greengrass had hand delivered Draco a copy of an old decree, not the document stating that Draco's funds would be transferred to Scorpius – that manuscript had arrived via owl, complete with the ministry seal of approval. Even he knew that applying for a marriage licence could take days, and then once it was approved, they would still be prevented from marrying right away. He hadn't slept well the night before, tossing and turning, worrying over this, but this morning, Hermione was the one who needed the reassurance.

They stepped off of the lift – a balding man was peering at them curiously the entire ride – and he took her hand instead of just holding her arm. The office for the Department of Marital Affairs was at the far end, with a waiting lounge shortly before it for people looking to speak with any number of employees. The lounge wasn't full, but the number of people waiting in there seemed incredulous to Hermione. At their arrival, she noted that those who looked up were suddenly alert and she tried to ignore the staring.

A piece with her and Draco had appeared in the Daily Prophet this morning, and without their cooperation, Rita Skeeter had acquired the photos she'd used from their days at Hogwarts. There was a suspicious picture however, that was from the night before Draco's wedding to Astoria – it had been of Hermione and Draco standing out in the cold air and holding each other, just before he'd apparated her away.

'_Who'd taken that one?'_

A part of her didn't want to know. That had been a pivotal night for her of course, and she found it even more suspicious that Rita could've gotten that picture but mentioned nothing about Émilie.

"Mister Malfoy."

Hermione snapped out of her reverie at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Two men were waiting for them in the lounge, but she only recognised one of them. Draco handled the introductions.

Percival Weasley and Padraig Boulstridge had met several times in court – the latter had two clients other than Draco Malfoy, although he didn't deal with them nearly as much. They disliked each other on principle, but probably wouldn't have gotten along anyway. Percy had paying clients, but he also helped out a number of those who couldn't afford a decent lawyer. On the flip side, Padraig was your typical snooty pureblood with no respect for those he considered beneath him – that was a lot of people, apparently…

The point was of course, that they couldn't stand each other.

"I would council against this," Padraig Boulstridge said haughtily to Draco, clearly realising immediately that his client was intending on including Percy in this case. "I do not recommend teaming up with Mister Weasley."

"I disagree," Percy said, pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose with an air of calm. "I believe that in order to do the right thing for the client – in this case multiple clients – working with you would be an acceptable sacrifice for me."

Draco didn't bother to hide the smirk that was creeping over his features. Why, Percival Weasley had just sounded positively snooty, despite the forced calm in his voice. During the course of his betrayal of the Weasley family to the ministry before the war, Draco would never have guessed that Percy would become a lawyer in favour of his previous dream of being minister for magic. The man even did pro-bono work these days – but unlike some lawyers that took that path, Percy had the good sense to know not to dive in head first with that. Pro-bono didn't just mean helping out the needy: it was too easy to get sucked right into a deep dark hole, from which there was no escape.

It didn't pay the bills either.

"The man has a point," Draco said. "The important thing is what's best for the _client_."

He was patronizing the Weasley, but Percy just rolled his eyes – otherwise ignoring the jab.

"Do you have access to the documents Mister Flint has also had drawn up?" Percy asked Boulstridge. When the man shook his head, he continued. "Well, I _do_. We each have our own means with which to handle this, and if we pool those resources, this will go much smoother."

"Not to mention faster," Draco said. Reluctantly, Boulstridge nodded his head. "Oh thank Merlin."

It was difficult enough to drag Padraig into something within his own firm – this was practically a miracle. Logic and knowledge was his Achilles heel: they never failed to motivate him.

"Then might I recommend moving this discussion to my office," Padraig suggested. "I can only imagine the difficulty we would have fitting into Mister Weasley's office."

Percy looked like he wanted to retort back, but thought better of it – time and place.

Hermione walked alongside him as they walked the rest of the way to Padraig Boulstridge's office. Once the secretary was told not to disturb them, the door was closed, and everyone was seated comfortable in the side lounge three feet away from Boulstridge's desk (Hermione sat next to Draco, across from Percy, who was two seats away from Padraig), the strangely proper man got down to business.

"In order for the marriage to be legally binding and infallible," Boulstridge said, "it must be approved by a ministry official. Whoever is feeding information to Miss Greengrass is blocking any and all contracts for the next two weeks with red tape and politics. The mole must be in this department," he added. "And we should figure out who they are before proceeding any further."

Hermione sighed. If this was the Muggle world, they could've been married last night – much more efficient, and not reliant on the absence of stringent last minute delays. She frowned as Percy snorted.

"Hang on," Draco held up a hand. "Are you saying that it will be impossible to get a marriage licence as long as Astoria's mole is around?"

"If we go through the official channels," Percy added, "the mole will notice – not to mention the new suspensions on the application process. So our choices are to either go directly to the Head of Department of Marital Affairs with information on the informant – which we don't have – or you apply for a special licence."

"Why is a special licence outside the official channels?"

Percy sighed heavily. "Because it bypasses the procedures that would normally take weeks to go through with a normal licence. But you need a viable reason for that route."

Draco groaned. "This is giving me a headache."

Hermione grimaced slightly as the men continued to bicker, crossing her legs as she leant back in her cushioned seat. She had no interest in taking part of the conversation until she needed to, just taking in what they were saying and running it through her head. A special licence would cut the wait time from three or four weeks down to possibly only a few days. She'd read about them – they were next to impossible to get. But that wasn't even the tip of their problems. Right now, Harry was using his connections to try to track down the mole, but in the meantime, this unseen antagonist was making life difficult.

Astoria definitely thought this one through.

Hermione realised her mind had drifted, and refocused on the discussion at hand as Boulstridge's voice interrupted something Draco was saying. "Sir, it doesn't matter: as long as the courts recognise Scorpius as a product of your marriage, he is in a position to inherit the Malfoy estate. Your ancestors set it in place so that only a male of the lineage could make this claim – you have a daughter by blood, not a son."

"I thought you took care of that," Draco said angrily.

Padraig shook his head. "I had his name forcibly changed because he's not your blood, but the prenuptial agreement you signed with Astoria Greengrass is her loophole into keeping him in your will." He glanced at Percy. "The other business with Miss Greengrass–"

Draco waved his attempt at subtlety away. "He knows."

At Hermione's insistence, both Percival Weasley and Harry Potter now knew about his infertility. The former had seemed necessary at the time but the latter had come up during the conversation that followed Astoria's leave from Malfoy Villa the day before. Draco could still remember the overwhelming torrent of sympathy on Potter's face when Hermione told him – another reason he hadn't slept properly the night before. Of course, he'd told his lawyer because it was a part of the imminent court case – he would just have to endure the feeling of shame if he wanted to use it against his evil ex-wife.

Boulstridge cleared his throat. "Yes. My point is that without the prenupt, it would be fair game and I'd be able to wrangle any form of rights from that woman on the basis of her adultery and mistreatment of you during your marriage. But the prenupt clearly states that in the event of conflicting interests, all monetary and property values are to be passed directly into the next in line of succession, which for now, is Scorpius Hyperion Greengrass."

"Not helping," Draco whined.

Hermione chuckled, drawing the attention of all three men. Draco was about to comment on her uncharacteristic silence when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Boulstridge said without turning around.

Hermione sat up straight at the arrival of her Hogwarts friend. Neville Longbottom had been travelling all over the world with his wife, Hannah. The last she'd heard, he was in Egypt. She'd only owled him late last night so wasn't expecting a response anytime soon, let alone the idea that he would arrive at the ministry the next day.

"Sorry to disturb you," Neville said, and Padraig scoffed, making a mental note to fire his secretary. "But I need a word with Hermione."

"Of course," Hermione said, rushing to her feet, taking Neville's arm and half dragging him away.

"Your owl sounded serious," Neville said as he was steered away from the prying eyes of nearby ministry workers and visitors alike.

"I'm grateful you came so quickly," she said. "I thought you were still in Egypt."

Neville shrugged his shoulders. "Harry flooed to my place in El Giza yesterday, so I got the basic idea of what's been going on. I was already back in London when your owl found me. But what can I do that could possibly help?"

Hermione stopped walking, looked around to check that no-one was watching, and then cast the Muffliato and half a dozen other spells (earning a weird look from her friend) just to be on the safe side. "It's about Draco."

… …

… …

Three days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, Draco found himself again, in a decidedly less than comfortable position. He'd agreed to this against his better judgement – he did NOT want to travel to Australia, let alone meet Hermione's parents. But this wasn't just about keeping up a happy smile for his wife-to-be. This was also about Astoria… the meddlesome intrusive officious interfering _bitch_.

Émilie Rose Granger wanted to come with them. She hadn't seen her grandparents for weeks…

As Draco and Hermione were about to head out to the apparation point outside Malfoy Villa, Émilie dragged Rosalie with her as she ambushed her parents.

"_S'il vous plaît_?" She half begged. "I want to see mémé and pépé Granger." **[A/N: "Please?"]**

"Next time," Hermione promised. "This isn't an all day visit – we'll just be having a quick lunch. Don't give me that look Émilie: you're staying here and waiting for your tutor."

"_Tuteur_?" Émilie asked, watching as her parents stood in front of the fireplace. **[A/N: "Tutor?"]**

Despite its obvious attraction, she didn't love Malfoy Villa the way she did her home in France – who wouldn't miss the expansive grounds of White Owl Estate? She missed Helaine Le Chateau with a _passion_.

"Of course a tutor," Hermione said. "I will not having you hanging around all day, doing nothing."

Émilie pulled a face. She was hoping to go shopping, or meet some other kids her age – her mère and père had promised her as much. But she wasn't surprised that her mother wanted her to study.

"You're going to tutor her to death Hermione," Draco said, shaking his head.

"You can accompany your father in to Diagon Alley tomorrow," Hermione said.

Émilie immediately brightened. "Really? _Merci_!"

She hugged her mother, her father and then kissed them quickly goodbye as Rosalie motioned for them to return to the sitting room to wait for the tutor. She hadn't been to Diagon Alley before – only ever _hearing_ how amazing it was. She practically skipped out of the room.

"Come on," Hermione took Draco's hand as he shook his head, amused.

He was still getting used to the idea that he hadn't watched Émilie grow into the strange little girl she was today. He hadn't allowed himself time to dwell on it, considering that train of thought always led to remembering what Astoria had done to him. He sighed heavily and allowed Hermione to lead him to the apparation point, where he promptly gripped tightly to her as she took charge of their destination.

They landed some ten feet from a cul-de-sac, turned north and walked through a park to get to the Muggle street Hermione's parents lived on. He was nervous initially, but as it turned out, Mary and Brian Granger were accommodating enough – she congratulated and hugged them more than necessary, while he gave him the "don't break her heart" speech. They had long since gotten over the whole "my daughter is a witch" thing, and Draco was pleasantly surprised by how knowledgeable about the Wizarding world they were, for Muggles.

This was the first time Draco had met the parents of a lover, fiancé or wife, and felt… _jealous_. They were supportive of Hermione's decisions and didn't drop the "I want more grandchildren" line. He was trying to figure out what dark secrets they were keeping (no-one was this _nice_) when the topic of the Wizarding war drew his attention like a moth to the flame.

When anyone talked about Voldemort, the Death Eaters and the post-war reformation process, Draco felt like a fly under a magnifying glass. If he didn't steer the topic away soon, he was going to overheat with shame and embarrassment. It wasn't like he regretted putting his family first – no matter how much his parents had screwed up and were continuing to do so. It was more like a resurgence of how he was scrutinized and judged in the days following Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord.

He didn't think he'd ever feel good about the things he'd done, regardless of his intentions.

Hermione didn't see the fear in his eyes, her attention on her mother as they spoke about how they'd been living in Australia the whole time and didn't want to leave when it was all over. They loved it here.

"One day we might return," Mary was saying, "but for now, this is our home."

Of course, all this talk on the war left Draco mentally unprepared for what was coming next: Mary had her afternoon planned around something she called retail therapy and it didn't take much convincing on Hermione's part to accompany her.

So, he endured tagging along behind the Granger women as they went shopping in the local Muggle mall and Mary bought Hermione some things that Draco could never have guessed what they were used for… apparently, they had something to do with the term "hypo-allergenic" – whatever _that_ was. He was so glad when the unintentionally extended visit was finally over. Carrying loads of shopping bags he wasn't allowed to magically shrink and slip into his pocket was _exhausting_.

Next stop: _bed_.

… …

… …

Whatever approval the Weasley matriarch had reserved for Émilie Rose Granger did not seem to extend to Draco Malfoy. Molly Weasley was a Prewett through and through – nothing anyone ever said or did could change her mind once she'd set it in stone. In her opinion, the Malfoys were the scum of the earth, and Draco was no exception. For years, people had been talking about the infamous feud between the Weasleys and Malfoys, that Arthur and Lucius hated each other unequivocally. But the truth of the matter was that while it was usually instigated by Lucius, it was more often than not, encouraged by Molly. She was the one who had instilled a strong dislike in her children for anything remotely connected to the Malfoy name.

It was true that the Malfoys had been Death Eaters in the first war, and had returned to the inner circle of Voldemort after his return, but Molly's animosity toward them came from a far more personal reason. Her brothers, Fabian and Gideon Prewett were original members of the Order of the Phoenix, and both were killed by the Death Eater Antonin Dolohov. To make matters worse, at the time of their deaths, Lucius Malfoy had been close with the Dolohov family. They were estranged after Voldemort's return, as the Malfoys were with everyone it seemed, but it did nothing to temper the hurricane that was Molly Weasley.

Hermione Granger knew of the woman's history and her distaste for the Death Eaters in general, but surely she did not see Draco in the same light that she'd view Antonin Dolohov?

Sitting next to Draco and across from Molly and Arthur, in the dining room of Malfoy Villa as they ate their dinner, she wasn't sure about that anymore. This place was her home, for now, and she'd agreed to move here because the only alternative was Malfoy Manor. She didn't want to go there anymore than Draco did. The villa was out of the way, but still within the boundaries of what constituted as London to the Wizarding world.

And, after enduring an afternoon with the Grangers in Australia, Draco wasn't really up to entertaining guests. Hermione could see this – but she was wary about declining the request to share an early evening meal with the Weasleys after how good Molly had been with Émilie. But as she'd just contemplated to herself, it wasn't the same with Draco.

Half way through the meal, Émilie dropped her fork, apologised quickly in French and ducked under the table to grab it. One tug-of-war with Chausie later (the house-elf Draco had acquired without Hermione's knowledge) over who would dispose of it, she re-emerged flushed from her failure and immediately started, shocked at the sudden shift of tension in the adults around her.

They'd been sitting in the dining room for ten minutes – Molly was subtly dropping hints that even Ronald would get, about the differences between good and bad people in war times: how people who hurt others should always get their own in the end, but sometimes one or _three_ of them might just slip through the cracks.

Once Chausie cleared the plates of their meal, Émilie and Rosalie excused themselves – Hermione promising to tuck her daughter in to bed within the next half an hour. She found herself suddenly hoarse and didn't speak up once during the entire meal. Next to her, she felt Draco stiffening more and more with every not-so-subtle word tossed carelessly out of Molly's mouth. He was ashamed of the things he'd done, even though he knew it was the right thing at the time – who was this woman to judge him based on her own life? She was fighting for her family during the war, as was he… he refused to apologise for that.

But like Hermione, Draco had no idea what to say to the Prewett turned Weasley.

"I was looking through some family photos the other day," Molly said, the corner of her mouth twitching, "and I found some old ones tucked away in the corner. Isn't it funny what you find when you're not looking for it?" She opened her purse, pulling out a thick wad of photos and placing them in front of Draco. They were moving pictures – black and white, but moving. "These are the ones with my brothers in them. You should take a look – they were killed by a Death Eater. You knew him: his name was Antonin Dolohov."

"Molly," Arthur said gently. "We should be heading back–"

"They never got the chance to have children," she said, ignoring her husband.

She continued on, with Hermione looking more and more like a frightened animal, while Draco clenched his fists tighter with every insult, until Arthur finally cracked.

"Molly Jane Weasley: that is enough!" Arthur snapped at his wife. "Say good night to our host and hostess: we are _leaving_."

Molly flustered as she was led away, and Hermione stood up as they left, reacting to the instinct to see her guests off respectfully. But after an apologetic side glance from Arthur, she knew he didn't want her to worry herself over them. It wasn't often that Arthur was angry or embarrassed when it came to his wife, and he needed to nip this in the butt before it happened again.

Still standing, Hermione stared down at her clasped hands.

She had never had any issues with the woman before her split from Ron that merited any kind of hostility. They got along fine enough when she was still going to Hogwarts, when the war started and when she officially started dating Ronald Weasley. But Hermione had never realised just how _smug_ Molly Weasley had been all this time about having been on the winning side of the war. It really hadn't occurred to her that the motherly woman who only exploded for a good cause would be so… _annoying_ to someone who hadn't been a part of the Order of the Phoenix.

For years while still at Hogwarts, she had had this image of Molly in her head, and it stuck there. They said that people changed in the war, and Hermione could see now, that even the most indomitable could fall flat on their faces in terms of etiquette. There was after all, no need for her to be so blatantly arrogant.

"I'm sorry…" Hermione said, sitting back down, feeling as tired as Draco – if not more.

He had bottled his emotions, holding back his reaction; Draco was good at that. No more. He stood up, furiously glaring at Hermione. "You should've told them to go home the moment they came!"

She looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"They didn't owl ahead Granger," Draco snarled, walking away from the table, toward the door to the sitting room. He stopped at the threshold and spun around to face her. "Normal people don't just turn up."

"Excuse me? I'll have you know that _normal_ people like to get visitors."

Draco snorted. "There's nothing normal about this situation."

"It's not like Molly to lash out like this," she said. "I would never have anticipated–"

"You're defending that wench of a woman?" He asked, flabbergasted.

"I'm not defending what Molly did!" Hermione snapped. "I'm not making excuses for her either! For Merlin's sake Draco, I'm on your side!"

"Yeah, it certainly sounded like it all through dinner."

She snorted. "I didn't hear you saying anything to her either."

"You're right: why complain about some pathetic mother head for talking trash to me if _I'm_ not going to."

Hermione resisted the urge to snap at his name calling and sighed deeply. "Look, can we just–"

"No, you're right: I'm overreacting." The sarcasm dripping from his tongue made her tremble. "Bloody hell, if I had known things were going to be like this I would've just come straight back to England instead of wasting my time, _Granger_. All the wealth in the world isn't worth this _hassle_."

He was pacing – Draco did that when he was nervous or worried yes, but also when he was on the verge of saying something he was going to regret. The fear he'd been harbouring, that Hermione didn't love him the way he loved her, was never stronger than it was right at that moment. He'd spent months getting her and Émilie back to England, and not once had she given even the barest hint to how that made her feel.

In his head, he was starting to sound like the _girl_ in this relationship, so he didn't voice these concerns out loud.

But did it bother him? It pissed him off! He wasn't supposed to be here, fighting to keep the Malfoy estate from a cruel, vindictive bitch – he was supposed to be running the company, earning more than his father ever did just so he could rub it in his face, and revelling in all the perks that came from being a Malfoy. Hermione Granger had not figured into his plans when he was at Hogwarts – sure, he'd gone through a phase or two (or more…) when he wanted to bone her, but he hadn't thought it was anything more than that.

Draco groaned as Hermione stood up, her face streaming with tears that had been unleashed during his pacing. She was shaking slightly and suddenly, he was worried for his safety. This angry woman was a hellcat with offensive spells… but she wasn't reaching for her wand.

"Is that all I am to you?" She growled. "Just a means to keeping your precious Malfoy _money_? Well fuck you."

Too shocked and prideful, he didn't stop her from leaving. Hermione stormed out of Malfoy Villa… leaving him behind to dwell on what he'd just royally screwed up.

Draco glanced in the direction of Émilie's room, remembering a moment later that Hermione had left her behind as well.

'_Maybe she just needs some time alone.'_

He banged his head against the wall, ignoring the single tear rolling down his left cheek. He loved that woman, he _needed_ her. He had for a long time: ever since the first time she'd smiled at him after the war. He just hadn't realised it at the time.

–

_Draco was on the stand for over an hour. The Wizengamot was taking into account his age, his upbringing, and the pressure he'd been under while under Voldemort's thumb. But their stern voices and disgruntled faces were giving him cynical thoughts – they wouldn't send him to Azkaban, right? He hadn't been given a choice. He'd just been a frightened teenager trying to save his parents. They wouldn't condemn him for that… right?_

_It seemed to take forever before Kingsley Shacklebolt, at the centre of those gathered in the benches, read out their verdict._

_Innocent._

_Cleared of all charges._

_Released into his own custody._

_The Malfoy estate signed over to Draco Lucius Malfoy._

_Wait… what?_

_Draco looked up at them, startled. He was replacing his father as Lord Malfoy? _

"_Your father has agreed to hand every deed, every estate, and all his earnings over to your name in return for staying out of Azkaban," Shacklebolt told him. "You are now the lord of the manor Draco Malfoy – do not make this court regret its light sentence on your father. Case adjourned."_

_He sat there, stunned, until a guard unshackled his arms. The dim lights brightened and Draco looked up at them, perhaps instinctually trying to bathe in it as he took stock of what had just happened._

_He was free._

_In the benches, Harry Potter was leaning in to speak with the minister: his presence today had been to speak on letting Draco go. As he stood shakily, Draco's eyes locked with the girl sitting on the chosen one's other side. Hermione Granger was smiling at him, radiating the kind of warmth he so desired to experience by peering into the light. The smile reached her eyes. It made her glow._

_And it was at that moment that he'd realised just how much one smile could light up someone's face._

–

Draco pulled his thoughts free and shook himself. Wallowing wasn't going to bring Hermione back.

He grabbed a travelling cloak and left the villa, knowing Rosalie wouldn't leave Émilie's side until one or both of her parents came to say goodnight. The wards had been shifted to prevent any and all apparation, so he left via the front gates, strode out to the designated apparation point, and spun on his heels.

The darkness left him and he landed lithely. Draco wasn't entirely sure where Hermione would've gone, given that she hadn't exactly been a social butterfly since her return to England. He tried Potter's place, not comfortable with heading around there, but thinking that if she was looking to get away from her fiancé, she'd go running somewhere he wouldn't want to chase her to.

No go.

His next choice was Muggle London – she'd confessed to him that sometimes, when she felt overwhelmed, she liked to mingle with Muggles for a few hours. He found it odd, suffocating, and crazy. The weather had shifted violently, and it was raining of all things. Half an hour after Draco had set out, he decided to head to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom wasn't a gossiper and there were plenty of dark corners to hang his head in as he planned his next move.

And there she was, standing in front of the pub, like she couldn't see it, but staring at the door anyway.

Draco didn't hesitate, pulling off his travelling cloak and wrapping it around the rain soaked woman in front of him. She responded by shivering and leaning into him as he embraced her from behind.

'_She's not mad anymore.'_

"Hermione," he whispered huskily in her ear. "What are you doing standing in the rain?"

"Thinking," she said softly. "And remembering."

He looked up at the sign above the pub. "About?"

"The first time I stepped through this door. The first time I saw you."

"Hm?"

She shivered again. "Your parents were with you, looking stern and annoyed at having to pass through the Leaky Cauldron to get your Hogwarts stuff. I guess they normally used the apparation point."

"Father always said the longer you take to do something, the less time you spend being a Malfoy."

Hermione giggled softly. "Strange one, that Lucius."

"Hermione?"

"Hm."

"Please come home with me."

She stiffened slightly. "Why are you here Draco?"

He spun her around, finally remembering to cast a protective charm to keep the rain at bay, and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. "Because I'm in love with you."

She'd been crying – the tears were rain swept, but her face was slightly puffy. She let out an indistinct sob and he cradled her face, lowering his mouth to hers. She deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around him and felt her body warming with unintentional magic. They were both being silly, taking their anger over what Molly had done with each other. Hermione twisted Draco's hair between her fingers, moaning and groping to her heart's content. When he bit her bottom lip she growled.

"Draco…" She murmured, and pried their mouths apart. "We should head back – Émilie and Rosalie will be worried."

Hermione lowered her head to rest on his chest, shivering in the cold air, despite the warmth from her magic, and held on tight as Draco pulled her along with him, apparating back to Malfoy Villa. Once inside, Hermione said goodnight to Émilie like she'd promised and told Rosalie that she and Draco would be gone for the night.

"I've been meaning to show you something," Hermione told Draco, leading him back to the apparation point. "It's a surprise," she added hastily as he opened his mouth to ask what. "You'll understand when we get there."

She held tightly to him again, her arms reaching up behind his back as she inhaled his scent before focusing on her _destination_,_ determination, and deliberation_ before Disapparating, pulling Draco along with her.

She would always love this mode of travel best.

Draco was confused at first; the sense of being thrust into a dusty, unused apartment was the first thing that occurred to him as he tried to figure out what was going on. He looked around, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Isn't it great?" Hermione asked, pulling away from him. "It didn't need much work, especially compared to the villa, but I've been leasing it out for the past six years and the last tenants left it in almost complete pristine condition, thank _god_. It's empty now and I've touched up the place, just giving it a more welcoming feel to it really. Well," she asked, frowning at his silence. "What do you think?"

Draco nodded his head slowly, taking it in. It was exactly as he remembered: from the tiled floors and the inbuilt kitchen and dining room tables, to the easterly windows and bedroom that was just on a raised level with no more than three steps between the living room and the open bedroom. This was a bachelorette pad… he hadn't really thought about it back then, but it made sense now.

Hermione had just annulled her marriage to Ronald Weasley when she'd bought this place. He remembered tracking down where she lived shortly before the due date for the wedding – he'd done it on a whim, still angry with his situation regarding the arranged marriage with Astoria. Despite his decision to go along with it, it had never been what he truly _wanted_. Hermione and Ron's announcement on the set date of their wedding had made him jealous, though at the time he hadn't really contemplated _why_ that would be. So he'd found the apartment they'd been renting (another indication that Ron came from a half assed pureblood family) by bribing the Muggle manager – said manager had then contacted him when Hermione bought _this_ place. Apparently, the man had been sleeping with the married owner.

It was how he'd known where to go the night they conceived Émilie.

'_Here.'_

The idea of some miracle happening here, some repeat of that night – not only in the incredible sex, but the end result of said sex – wasn't lost on him. He wanted that so badly. He _needed_ it.

"Hermione I–"

"Let's not worry about anything tonight," she interrupted.

"Are there wards here?" Draco asked, nodding in agreement with her statement.

"Yes, but they're new – every tenant since I left has been Muggle. I made this one a bit more flexible. The alarms would go off if it was anyone other than me, you, Émilie or Rosalie, or if any of us felt threatened by someone entering the apartment with us."

"Smart."

"Of course."

Draco smiled. "You included me in the ward."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"How did you get a hold of my blood?"

She bit her bottom lip, not sure he wanted to hear the details.

He chuckled. "I think I love you Hermione Granger."

She blushed. "Well, I think I love you too Draco Malfoy."

"Hm." He leant in to kiss her, inhaling her scent as he suckled on her lips. "Mmm… shall we retire to the bedroom?"

She giggled and followed him – he was in a rush to get started it seemed.

The blood wards here were such that even Harry couldn't break through. He'd been coming and going to Malfoy Villa over the last three days, just popping in and out, because he was the Head of the Auror Department. If he tried to apparate in _here_, he'd end up in a small swamp ten miles away. If he tried to walk in the front door, he would collide with a wall of magic and be Confunded. If he tried to Floo in, he'd find himself in the grate for the Zabini household instead.

She made a mental note to discuss blood wards at the villa with Draco just as she lay back on the bed, closing her eyes as the delicious man assaulted her mouth. His lips moved to her jaw line, and she was just about to start pulling her shirt off when he stopped her.

"Let me," he said huskily, his breath on her skin as he lowered his lips returned to hers.

But instead of pulling her shirt off, he assaulted her mouth once more, one hand on hers, the other gripping her face like he was cupping it. The kiss was sensual, slow, and teasing as he bit her lip softly. She moaned.

"Draco…"

And it was that one, erotic tone that drove him on; he gripped her fiercely, almost animalistic, and pulled her shirt off her roughly. Draco moved quickly to her bra as she undid the buckle on his pants. Before she knew it, she was topless and he'd already taken off her jeans, now working on the bottom of her matching knickers. She groaned, sliding backwards away from him as he managed to remove the offending item, exposing her to his eyes; stormy grey eyes soaked in the gorgeous sight before he quickly undressed, lying on top of her, equally naked.

His mouth fell to her right breast, suckling her nipple as he tasted her salty skin. She gasped and moaned at his touch, while he kneaded her other breast possessively. His other hand had made it to her wetness, slipping into her with no effort and scissoring her walls to prepare her.

Draco was never surprised by how ready she was for him: after all, he was a sex god and wouldn't let her forget it. But they hadn't slept together for three nights, and the end of her menstrual cycle was a particularly amorous time for her. Most women were horny during their cycle, but she started to crave him more in the few hours immediately after the bleeding had stopped. She was rougher, almost dangerous, when they had sex at this point, and he took advantage every time.

The moment he added the fourth finger inside of her, enjoying the way she was clenching and unclenching, Hermione pulled him up roughly, distracting him with a fervent kiss before gripping his phallus, _hard_. He hissed into her mouth, biting down harder than necessary as his engorged muscle responded to her touch. She wasn't being gentle, matching her stroking rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers, and causing his hips to jerk suddenly. She was pushing him over the edge, and this had to stop.

"S-stop," he said, breathing deeply. "I'm so close, _too_ close."

She grinned up at him cheekily. "Then by all means, take me now, Mister Malfoy."

"Merlin, you're fucking asking for it!"

He pushed her knees apart roughly, locking eyes with her as he rammed into her silken heat. She cried out, fisting his hair, and throwing her head back. He used the bed for support, arching his back as he drove harder and deeper into her, with her writhing and screaming his name underneath him. He kept a steady pace, torturing her as she clawed at him, needing more friction, but then started moving faster as his body screamed at him.

Draco gave little thought to the fact that the bed was groaning underneath them and inhaled the scent of sex and Hermione Granger, waiting out his release as she came for a fourth time; his seed spilling into her on the last moan from her mouth. Her body shuddered and she sighed, enjoying the after effects of her orgasm, holding tightly to the beautiful man above her.

"Fuck!" Draco rolled off of her, pulling her with him as he went, and she nuzzled his chest.

Hermione started to drift off immediately, exhausted from the day, not to mention multiple orgasms, but content when Draco whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

"I love you Hermione."

… …

… …

Five days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, Émilie spent the morning and lunch at The Burrow – her best friend, Victoire Weasley, had come over in time for lunch. Apparently, Molly was making up for something, according to James Potter. He seemed to think she'd done something wrong.

"Gramma always feeds us breakfast _and_ lunch when mummy or daddy are upset with her."

Émilie couldn't see why.

And to top off the weirdness, the older brother of Albus Potter had been _eerily_ sweet with her and she was on the edge of her seat, waiting for him to go back to normal. She felt so nervous around him now, her demeanour a little more tense as Albus pulled on her hair and she let him, caring more about the creepy way James was following her around.

She couldn't stand this new version of him and it was with sulky reluctance that she said goodbye to her parents, wondering why she couldn't just go to her _mémé's_ home. Rosalie didn't come with her, which was weird, and when Émilie questioned her parents on this, all they said was that she had business to tend to. What did that even mean? Her parents were acting weird. They were working today – whatever that meant – on ridding the world of evil: her _père's_ words, not hers.

Meanwhile, knowing her granddaughter wouldn't have either of her parents to go back to after lunch, Narcissa had offered to pick Émilie up, but when she heard she'd spent the day in The Burrow, she worried. Rosalie came to her rescue and said she'd get her and bring her back to the manor.

The blonde was relieved and thanked her.

She had been wary of the nanny at first, both because she wasn't a house-elf, like all Malfoys were supposed to have, and because she was a Muggleborn witch. But she seemed unusually in tune with other people's needs, like she was some sort of Empath. Narcissa wondered briefly if there was any such thing as she awaited Émilie's arrival by having the house-elves prepare some playthings for her – Rosalie had told her of a few Muggle things she liked, as well as magical toys. Émilie was a strange child, through and through. The little girl took after Draco so much, and thankfully hadn't inherited her mother's dislike of using house-elves.

'_Hermione Granger…'_

Narcissa was still unsure how to treat her, having hated Muggles and mudbloods for so long, but this was different somehow. Hermione had given her a granddaughter, and the woman who had _actually_ married her son had only ever given her a headache. Astoria was a vindictive _bitch_. She'd never say that out loud, given her unwavering commitment to poise and propriety, but her thoughts were not so easily put on display.

She sighed, just grateful that Lucius was also busy today. She wanted to spend more time with her granddaughter without him around. He wasn't very good company these days, mumbling about broken traditions and stupid impure laws.

Narcissa stood up as the floo activated, surprised that only Émilie came through. She was under the impression that Rosalie was almost always with her. The younger witch shrugged her shawl off as the house-elf known as Krepta appeared and offered to take it for her. Émilie just giggled, shaking her head at him and greeted Narcissa happily, speaking in fluent French for a few minutes before calming down and returning to English.

"House-elves are so funny," she stated seriously.

Narcissa laughed softly. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"No thank-you _mémé,_" Émilie said, "I've had lunch. Do you have any games?"

"Of course, Rosalie told me what you like."

"She takes care of me better than _mère_ and _père_ combined."

"I'm not surprised."

Émilie roped her into playing something called Guess Who, a few board games and lamented over the absence of electronic games (Harry had gotten her into them a little while back but she hadn't touched them since James killed her over and over in one of the shooting games he liked so much).

It was almost time for an early supper when Émilie wanted to go through her _mémé's_ closet, her eyes drawn instinctively to the formal dresses she stored for official functions.

Émilie hummed happily to herself, and started to dance slightly to the imaginary music in her head, holding a dress in her hands out like it was her dance partner, her mind overwhelmed with the day's events.

Watching from the other side of the room, Narcissa couldn't help but smile. That awful Astoria had robbed her of having a son, but here was Émilie, a beautiful little girl, and her granddaughter… she honestly couldn't be happier. After everything Draco had gone through, he deserved this bundle of joy. The girl was so poise, so intelligent, and yet still so very childlike. She couldn't get her head around it, so just enjoyed this weirdly happy feeling she had that for the first time in generations (or ever perhaps) that a first born Malfoy was a girl.

Émilie moved over to where her _mémé_ was quietly reading a book. She tried not to frown with annoyance as she looked at her._ "__Pourquoi faire vous ne pas aimer mon mére__?_" **[A/N****: "****Why****do****you****not like****my****mother****?"]**

Narcissa was shocked by the question. She obviously disliked Hermione for her breeding. But what Émilie was asking of her to know was a loaded question, with no correct way of answering. She hadn't expected this from her. She thought about it, the answer coming out diplomatic. The last thing she wanted to do was insult her.

"Your mother and I grew up with different ideals," Narcissa said, keeping her voice even. "In the Wizarding world, most pureblood families look down on people with no magic, and Hermione didn't know she was a witch when she was your age. In the Black family – that's mine – dislike of Muggles and Muggleborns is something we're taught to think and feel, and like a nasty comment, it can stay with us for the rest of our lives."

Émilie nodded thoughtfully and stared into her grandmother's eyes. "What about me? Do you not like me as well?"

"Oh Émilie," Narcissa pulled her into a tight hug. "I _love_ you."

Émilie giggled happily at that and grinned as her grandmother let her go. "Me too!"

Narcissa held onto her, thinking. She pulled away a few minutes later, smiling down at her. "What do you miss most about France, dear?"

"My friends," Émilie said dismissively. "Helaine manor." She started to play with her grandmother's hair absentmindedly. "And then the Musée d'Orsay."

"You like museums?" Narcissa was not surprised that Hermione would introduce her daughter to a Muggle museum, but hoped that Émilie knew about the magical ones as well. She'd heard that her company mixed Muggle and magical artefacts to draw in money which was promptly donated. She got paid to do all this, but it was a non-profitable organisation.

Narcissa knew about the Musée d'Orsay because of her own attempts at being a philanthropist, which had unfortunately fallen short.

"Uh-huh," Émilie said, nodding her head. "_Mère_ used to take me every weekend and on my birthday I'd get to choose which one of the pieces from the magical collections that went on sale at _Béziers __Maison d'Enchères_to be donated for that month." _**[A/N "Maison d'Enchères" means "auction house", while Béziers is a Muggle city. So it's called "Béziers Auction House"]**_

Her birthday was in September, so she always chose something that better reflected a more autumn-like atmosphere. Every year, it was her favourite birthday present. She hoped that moving to England wouldn't change it. She wanted to do the same thing again next time. It was more than just a birthday present, and had become a tradition she could share with her mother. She sighed, throwing her arms around her _mémé_, burying her face in the woman's shoulder.

Narcissa hugged her back, musing on what she'd said. Hermione was a wonderful mother, if not misguided, but a better mother to Émilie than _she'd_ been to Draco. She'd regretted all that time, standing by Lucius and watching as he pushed their son so far; she was surprised Draco had not gone mad. There was never going to be anything she could do to make that up to him, although she'd tried (another thing she'd failed at since the end of the war). Narcissa was suddenly struck with a thought: she did not want anything like that to ever happening to Émilie. The Malfoy name was cursed now, but perhaps by marrying Hermione, Draco could salvage something of it to give Émilie the life she deserved.

Narcissa stroked her granddaughter's hair, mesmerised by the blonde strands. If it wasn't for Hermione, she wouldn't have this blessing, she would soon be out on the streets because of Astoria. And because she and Lucius had pestered Draco until he married a vile woman who was not above poisoning her own husband. A single tear formed in the corner of her eye, but she wiped at it before it could fall.

This time, she would do things the right way, and not how she'd been raised. She kissed the crown of Émilie's head as she realised the girl had fallen asleep and whispered.

"I'll keep you safe."

… …

… …

Seven days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, Hermione felt like throwing up.

She had never felt this nervous before, even while awaiting the result of Hogwarts exams or fighting Death Eaters. Both of those problems seemed to pale by comparison to this one.

She was getting married.

Merlin's beard… she was marrying Draco Malfoy!

This was so far out of her original life plan that it was giving her hiccups. Ginerva "Ginny" Potter was attempting to calm her jitters, soothing each and every one of her concerns.

"You love Draco," she said. "Focus on that."

'_Life is what happens while you're making your plans.'_

Someone said that – she couldn't remember who. Hermione had been planning her life for years and _none_ of it had come to fruition. Getting pregnant out of wedlock apparently did that to a person.

She was standing outside the registrar's office with Ginny, waiting to be led in so that the chosen ministerial from the Department of Marital Affairs could perform the bonding ceremony. Draco was already inside, speaking with the appropriate ministry employees and from the brief look she'd gotten at his formal robes, Hermione was grateful she'd insisted on wearing a soft sky magenta coloured dress with no frills or lace. The neckline was conservative, but she'd had it made to compliment her curves while still looking like it could double as a conventional, formal dress.

Her hair was up and out of her face, falling in ringlets that framed her face: she was comfortable with it, but not entirely sure it was warranted. After all, this wasn't a big ceremony, just containing the appropriate officials and a handful of select family and friends.

Harry came out of the room, took Ginny's hand in his, and whispered in her ear. She nodded and hurried into the room.

"Shall we?" He asked Hermione, offering her his arm.

She smiled and took his arm. "Thanks Harry."

"For what?"

"For everything."

"What are best friends for?"

"Getting their asses kicked."

He chuckled. "I'll be careful not to incur your wrath until you're heavily pregnant with your second child – you won't be able to catch me then." He smiled at her frown. "It'll happen. Come on, let's get you in there."

Draco struggled not to let his jaw drop when Hermione entered the room on Potter's arm. This wasn't some public wedding with all the bells and whistles but… _Merlin_ she looked gorgeous. He wondered briefly if he was under some sort of enthrallment, but snapped out of it once Harry placed her hand onto the arm of her intended.

'_Damn, it's really happening.'_

He could hardly believe that karma felt he deserved this. Draco kept his eyes on her as the ministry official recited a few legal paragraphs as a result of this being from a special licence. The bells and whistles were on the paper work, the fact that the ministerial witness outnumbered the combined friends, family, and that in order for this to work, the man reciting the bonding spell was unknown to the both of them.

It was all about the ministry covering its butt, really.

Their hands were bound together, magic weaved over them, and a few spells preceded the final line:

"In the presence of these witnesses, with the power of magic and in the name of all things noble and true, I now declare you husband and wife."

Draco leant into kiss Hermione and she held tightly to him. It was done, it was over… she couldn't help but feel both elated and saddened. They pulled apart at the sound of someone clearing their throat, still holding onto each other.

The next five to ten minutes were a blur – it included congratulations and warm hugs. Narcissa was taking Émilie for the night, while Rosalie was heading back to France for awhile (to visit friends and for an overdue, well deserved holiday). Blaise and Pansy Zabini were glad for Lucius's absence: apparently, he had been particularly nasty to them over the years. The only Weasleys in attendance were Arthur, Percy, and George. Ginny and Harry hadn't brought their children, much to Émilie's delight, and the only other people here were Muggleborn…

Hermione was grateful for Harry's interference on that front. Her parents left shortly afterward – despite their overwhelming tolerance of her being a witch, not to mention marrying a wizard, they weren't exactly eager to remain in the ministry any longer than necessary.

Draco hugged his mother goodbye (they had agreed not to mention his father until the older Malfoy got over himself), kissed Émilie fiercely, and then whispered in her ear, "You're a Malfoy now."

… …

… …

Nine days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, the word was out. People had already started sending Hermione and Draco either well wishes or letters of scorn – the latter mostly from the traditional pureblood families. She ignored them and focused on the well wishes, still giddy with excitement over the events of two days ago. They would be delaying their honeymoon, which was understandable, and once this business with Astoria was over, Narcissa wanted to hold a celebratory feast in light of the small, rushed ceremony that had married them.

Hermione readily agreed.

But she had bigger problems now. The Wizarding world was watching her with a magnifying glass.

Harry had the list of suspects when it came to Astoria's mole narrowed down, but he couldn't be sure without further proof. He didn't want to tell either Hermione or Draco the names of the people on his list until he knew more, frustrating them both.

There was a rumour going around that Astoria Greengrass was trying to take the Malfoy estate – very few people (by comparison) actually knew for sure that it was true, so it made Harry wonder _who_ leaked it. Only an hour after the rumour hit the public ear, Astoria gave an emotional speech to a Daily Prophet reporter and Luna's father had been able to ascertain that it was just a drabble of the woman acting the victim – trying to garner public support.

Draco wasn't looking forward to that issue hitting the stands.

The woman was out for blood.

Meanwhile, Scorpius Greengrass was still being treated like the Malfoy heir by the courts. All the paperwork Draco had gone through with his lawyers had been for nothing it seemed – someone was being paid off, that's for sure. It also didn't help that Astoria was accusing him of only marrying Hermione to keep his inheritance. It was Hermione's idea then, to hold their own press conference, because it seemed the public outcry in favour of Astoria was putting pressure on the minister for magic to cut Draco off completely and immediately.

Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't been more angry in his life – disregarding previous events with Death Eaters and Cornelius Fudge back in the days when the man was ripping apart other people's reputations just to cover his own ass.

Meanwhile, Hermione agreed to meet up with Blaise and Pansy Zabini in a café of sorts in Diagon Alley. The proof of her marriage to Draco Malfoy had been spread out in the most recent issue of the Daily Prophet, not to mention the Quibbler, and she anticipated the stares, the whispers, and the rumours that came with it. The Malfoy family name was tarnished, but this was information too good not to gossip about – the only girl in the golden trio, not having been seen in public in England for six years, was now married to Draco Malfoy, and with a child out of wedlock no less.

Yes, people had cottoned onto the fact that Draco had fathered a child the night before he married Astoria. The press conference wasn't being held until the next day, but Pansy convinced Hermione to step out into the public eye at least once before that happened. Draco was currently at work, trying to salvage what was left of his ownership, so Pansy and Blaise decided to come along with their best friend's new wife.

"Nervous?" Pansy asked, having tugged on Hermione's arm to keep her moving as they made their way to an outdoor table.

"A little."

"You're in good company," Blaise said sarcastically and she giggled at him.

He wasn't very happy about this – Blaise preferred the more subtle approach to growing problems. People were like vultures, and gossiping was a form of evil in his opinion. He wished it was Draco dragging Hermione on this outing, but the man was busy, saying he had work to tend to. They didn't need to become walking, talking zoo animals to make this better. The shit had already hit the fan, as the Muggle expression went.

The married couple escorting Hermione were distracting her from the butterflies tossing and turning in her stomach. They sat down, ordered, and waited. It wouldn't be long now. Only a minute later (longer than she'd expected), a reporter from the Daily Prophet approached them and started taking pictures.

"Out of it," Blaise snapped.

The reporter's name was William Farrer, judging by a small badge on his shirt. "Are you really married to _the_ Draco Malfoy?" The man squeaked, ignoring both Blaise and Pansy. "Why isn't he out here with you? I'd love a picture of the happy couple…"

"Wouldn't we all?"

Hermione inwardly groaned at the arrival of Astoria Greengrass. Marcus Flint was holding her arm, his face composed and his eyes averted. Hermione hadn't seen him since that night in the bar when she'd slept with Draco. Looking at him now, he seemed more tired, bored and his hairline was already starting to recede.

Astoria on the other hand, was beautiful and looked like she'd just come from a photo shoot.

"Oh, I'm sure _you're_ curious as to what a happy couple looks like," Pansy said casually. "Blaise and I could show you: you know if you're not too busy plotting world domination later tonight."

Astoria forced a giggle. "Oh Pansy, as usual, you leave me wanting more. But be a good girl and be quiet – I was actually talking to Granger. It's not proper etiquette to interrupt other people's conversations."

"You're not having a conversation," Pansy said, in a sickly sweet voice. "You're interrupting a casual afternoon meal–"

"In a public place," Astoria said. "Where I am entitled to–"

"You're entitled to speak, I'm entitled to speak, _Hermione's_ entitled to speak…" Pansy left her husband out of that, for which he was grateful.

"Then let her speak."

Farrer continued to listen, his Quick-Quotes Quill scribbling out every word being said as he continued taking pictures of the scene before him – the gathering crowd was making both Hermione and Blaise uncomfortable. Farrer seemed to have brought everything with him that he needed for this – had he known that Astoria was planning to come here all along?

"Well well," Astoria said, pretending to care as she focused her attention on Hermione. "As it turns out, that little girl I met _was_ Draco's after all. Isn't that funny?"

Marcus flinched slightly, but Hermione didn't glance at him. What was _his_ problem?

"Not really," she answered through gritted teeth.

"Oh I think so," Astoria continued. "You see, the courts are under the impression that Draco Malfoy is infertile. That was one of his arguments for having Scorpius removed from the Malfoy family tree. And what do you know, lo and behold, he actually _does_ have a child! I'm sure they'll be interested to know how a supposedly infertile man managed to father one."

"You know _very_ well why Scorpius isn't Draco's," Hermione said dangerously. "You cheated on him with Marcus."

Farrer turned suddenly to take a picture of Marcus before returning to the bickering women.

"I was in a loveless marriage and–"

"And Marcus was a sympathetic ear," Hermione finished. "Seeing as though he has no idea what a healthy relationship looks like either."

She'd heard that her old friend, Anastasie Babineaux, whom Marcus had married years ago, was currently in a French hospital like St. Mungo's. She wasn't in her right mind apparently, so Marcus had sole custody of their son, Julien Everard Flint. Hermione regretted losing contact with the woman. Maybe, if she'd tried harder to stay in her life, Anastasie wouldn't be where she was today. She blamed Marcus for the fall from grace.

And, if Hermione was expecting Marcus to respond, she was sorely disappointed.

Astoria however, was the one who was looking increasingly angry. Draco had told Hermione about the times Astoria would boil with anger and spill secrets in the heat of the moment – but it seemed like no-one could anger her like he could. Right now, she was merely on simmer.

Hermione stood up, Pansy and Blaise following her lead as she turned away, making to leave.

"Don't go too far Granger," Astoria said. "The Daily Prophet will want to hear your version on how Draco likes to use women and throw them to the nearest available wolf."

Hermione turned around to face the high society harlot and slapped her _hard_, across the face. Astoria stumbled backward stunned, but quickly recovered, her wand in her hand the next moment. But Hermione was faster, and deflected the minor hex which she guessed was no stronger than a Tickling Charm. Blaise jumped in then, breaking them up, but the moment he stood between them, Hermione lowered her wand.

Marcus merely watched on, more uninterested than ever, while Pansy placed a placating hand on Hermione's shoulder.

The Daily Prophet reporter continued taking snapshots as Astoria Greengrass shouted obscenities (Marcus had finally taken a firm grip on her wand arm so she couldn't cast anything else) and calling her names that even Ron hadn't shouted at her before.

Astoria's sister Daphne appeared, pushing her way through the crowd, and Hermione braced herself. Marcus released the younger of the sisters and Daphne took her sister's arm. She whispered into the blonde's ear (the older of the two had brunette hair and a softer expression on her face), causing Astoria to go silent. She did however, snarl in Hermione's direction before storming away, Daphne following closely behind.

Marcus paused, his eyes sweeping over Hermione in contemplative silence, before walking away after his temperamental half.

For a moment, Hermione was breathless. She forced herself to calm down, realising Blaise was staring at her intently; he was tense, his eyes scrutinizing her, looking for any sign she was going to snap at him next. She offered him a slight smile and he visibly relaxed. She was thankful he'd jumped up, even though Astoria was nothing she couldn't handle in the wand department. The girl didn't seem to have much power or skill for that matter. The hex she'd used (though non-verbal) seemed to be almost inconsequential, unless she'd actually held back. But considering the woman's vehemence for Hermione's "interference" in her ploy to get the Malfoy riches, she doubted Astoria cared not to hurt her, with or without an audience.

Still, Draco _had_ warned her not to underestimate the woman, so Hermione found herself entertaining the idea again that she _had_ held back. Harry too, seemed to think Astoria was more cunning than direct. But Astoria _had_ risen to Hermione's bait. From Draco's descriptions, she should've risen faster. This was why Hermione thought it safe just to leave. The woman was out of control the moment the slap hit home.

She sighed and turned to face Blaise and Pansy, thinking now on Astoria's older sister.

"That was Daphne, right?" Hermione asked; the ever growing crowd had since dissipated, realising nothing else was going to happen.

Blaise nodded his head. "But she's alright. She has the only level head on her shoulders in that family, I swear."

Hermione nodded, still rattled by what had just transpired. "Didn't she hang out with you lot back at Hogwarts?"

"Sure, but we weren't close. She was friends with Draco, but more often than not, they didn't get along."

"Why's that?"

Pansy giggled slightly, surprising her. "Because she wouldn't sleep with him."

… …

… …

Ten days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, the press was given a free pass.

The conference initially wasn't supposed to include Astoria, but she used her contacts in the Daily Prophet to put her name on the guest list. She had left Marcus at home, but Daphne was taking his place for the afternoon it seemed. The girls were whispering in a corner when the press started to arrive.

This entire thing may have been Hermione's idea, but Harry was actually the one who'd organised it. Neville, once quiet and shy in front of cameras, had volunteered to help set up and address the press before either Hermione or Draco got on stage. They were in the ministry – a courtroom on one of the sublevels funnily enough, where Harry remembered being questioned about using a Patronus Charm in front of Muggles during a break from Hogwarts. It had been converted for this conference, so nothing he was looking at as the guests began filing in, reminded him of that harrowing experience.

"I think we have some gatecrashers," he said, counting the heads of the last line of people shuffling in.

"Let them," Hermione said. "It doesn't really matter."

Draco groaned. "Why are we doing this again?"

Harry ignored him, peering out behind the curtain that had been set up at the back of the stage.

"Because Astoria's a right cow," Hermione reminded her husband.

'_Husband.'_

It still sounded weird… a comfortable kind of weird, if that made any sense.

"I know _that_," Draco rolled his eyes. "But why do we need a press conference? And why–"

Hermione kissed him quickly to shut him up. "Just trust me, okay?"

He sighed. He _really_ wanted to. "Fine, but if anything goes wrong, I'm putting her under the Imperius–"

"I'm standing right here," Harry said grumpily. "Don't talk about illegal activities near me or I really _will_ arrest you."

Hermione patted his arm. "We know, we know."

"I need a drink," Draco said, and stalked away.

There was an open bar after the press conference, but he wanted something _now_. If he was going to go on stage and purposefully anger Astoria, then he wasn't going up sober. He was practically an expert at holding his liquor, remembering fondly the night he and Hermione had conceived Émilie – he'd been one fine brandy from stinking drunk, but still shagged her brains out with clarity. It was moments like these he was exceptionally proud of.

Hermione was handing a parchment to Neville and nitpicking over Harry's choice of robes when Draco returned, drink in hand.

"Your wife is a nuisance," Harry said evenly. "How you get up in the morning without spending hours chewing your nails is beyond me."

Draco chuckled as Hermione shot a dark look at her best friend. "With great restraint, I assure you."

"Heads up," Neville warned, and they all turned to see Daphne Greengrass sauntering over to them.

Her sister was at the other side of the stage, and pointedly ignoring them, for now.

"Daphne," Draco said curtly. "I'm assuming no introductions are necessary."

The girl shook her hair, dark strands falling into her eyes, but she ignored them. "I'm not here for that Malfoy."

"Then why?"

She smirked at him. "To wish you luck of course. If anyone can rile Astoria up and create a public scandal, it's _you_."

He sneered at her. "And what _exactly_ does that mean?"

She stepped closer to him, shifting her body to whisper in his ear and he gripped his brandy tightly. A moment later, she pulled away, seemingly unperturbed by the glare Hermione was sending her way. "Marcus isn't here," she added, her eyes drifting from Hermione's to Draco's and then back again. "He dislikes being put on show."

"Astoria's all over it," Harry noticed, watching the younger Greengrass kneeling on the edge of the stage and talking adamantly with a group of reporters.

Daphne glanced toward her sister and Draco caught the momentary look of disgust before she schooled her features. "Yes…" She shook herself. "Well, good luck. You're going to need it."

She strolled away, not looking back at them, even as she strode right past Astoria. The blonde, much to her credit, was working the crowd with a little pre-conference charm.

It was enough to make Hermione sick, and she instinctively covered her mouth.

"Come on," Neville motioned to Draco. "We might as well get this over with."

"What did she whisper in your ear?" Hermione asked.

Draco shook his head. "Just a little something she used to tell me as children. Later," he added, when she opened her mouth to complain. "It would take too long to explain and it's show time."

Harry took Hermione's hand in his for comfort as Draco followed Neville on stage. She squeezed it tightly as Neville gave a small speech about why they were gathered here and then handed the two microphones over to Draco and Astoria for the press to ask their questions.

The two purebloods glared at each other, but said nothing about their mutual loathing… that was until the first question.

A reporter Hermione recognised lifted his hand into the air, but didn't wait for permission to ask, "I heard from a reliable source that your marriage only ended because of your temper Miss Greengrass."

"I know how to remain calm," Astoria said evenly.

"You're an unsolicited slut," Draco reminded her. "You don't know anything about restraint."

"I stopped myself from _killing_ you for years," she snarled. "How's _that_ for restraint?"

"What the _fuck_?"

The press continued to murmur as Draco looked dumbstruck, but Astoria wasn't finished.

"And you _suck_ in the bedroom," she ranted. "I had to get myself off so many times, it's no wonder I cheated on you. Merlin, if only I found you attractive, then I wouldn't have had a problem. You should see yourself naked: it's _disgusting_. I'm sure that mudblood harridan you're married to thinks you're sexy – animals like it like that I suppose. But I'm a _pureblood_," she added, like a haughty child. "And I have standards!" She frowned at him and for a moment, he wondered if she was drunk. "What would you say to a little romp," she said, "if we bring your little mudblood on stage, would you fuck her in front of everyone?"

"Don't call her that," he snarled.

Astoria looked startled for a second, unsure of herself. But it passed when the same reporter shouted out "did you really cheat on him Miss Greengrass?"

"Oh yes," she said, unable to stop herself. "_Many_ times."

"And what about the rumours that he's infertile? Care to comment?"

She nodded at the reporter. "Oh yes, my finest work." Her eyes widened inexplicably.

"You're saying his alleged infertility is _your_ doing, Miss Greengrass?"

Astoria nodded, looking like an animal about to be slaughtered. She couldn't stop her mouth from working. "I hated him so much, I _had_ to do it. He deserves to be the last stinking Malfoy on the face of this planet."

Her hands flew to her mouth and for some reason, Draco found it more hilarious than insulting.

"And you, Mister Malfoy," the strangely dressed Daily Prophet reporter by the name of William Farrer said. "How do you feel about all this?"

"Strangely pissed and excited," Draco said, having the same problems with lack of control of his mouth. "I mean, she's clearly evil and vindictive, but seriously, hearing her say all of this in front of you bottom feeding idiots is oddly heart warming…"

The crowd went deadly quiet and Astoria let out an undignified snort, drawing their attention once more. More questions were thrown, answered _honestly_, and tempers flared. But every time Draco was about to wring Astoria's neck, she'd blurt out more about how filthy everyone was compared to her and they should be grateful she graced them with her presence: he couldn't help but laugh at her.

Hermione wanted to go out there and bring it to an end but stopped herself every time Astoria said something self incriminating… the press was asking her most of the questions and, despite his anger at his ex-wife's answers, Draco looked like he was quite enjoying himself. There was no logical reason why or how this could be happening, as Astoria continued to dig her own grave – she looked terrified, but continued on anyway.

Hermione's eyes drifted away from the scene and she spotted Daphne in the opposite wing, poking her head out from behind the curtain, wand in hand. And the moment Daphne raised her wand, Astoria toppled over the podium, falling inelegantly into the waiting crowd.

… …

… …

Daphne Greengrass had some explaining to do. Having left the spectacle her interference with her sister had caused, she was followed by Hermione, Draco, Harry, and Neville and at Hermione's insistence, stepped into the Malfoy lawyer's empty office – closing the door behind her. She'd cast the spell that had sent Astoria toppling head first into failure and they wanted to know _why_.

"First things first," she said, looking around to double check they were indeed alone, "nothing I'm about to tell you will go any further than this room, no matter _what_."

"Agreed," Neville said, looking intrigued.

Harry nodded quickly, eager to hear what she had to say, and Hermione sighed, nodding head as she held onto a dazed Draco.

"He agrees," Hermione added, indicating to Draco. His eyes widened and he moved to disagree but she covered his mouth. "Don't you dear?"

He grunted and she removed her hand. He let out a raucous sigh and kissed her cheek like he was a teenager in love… it was actually a little disturbing.

"How did you make Astoria do all those things?" Harry asked.

"How else do you force the truth out of someone?" Daphne asked patiently.

"Veritaserum?"

"Yes," Daphne said. "My sister drinks heavily when she's nervous, so slipping some into her cognac wasn't difficult – she was also slightly inebriated."

"So what was Draco's problem?" Hermione asked, as her husband continued to look too happy with himself – even for a Malfoy.

Daphne shrugged. "It wouldn't do to have only Astoria telling the truth up there. I know he makes her angry just by opening her mouth, but with the press looking up at her and her looking quite pompously down at them it wasn't going to happen. She would've had to have been stinking drunk for that to be possible."

"So you drugged Malfoy too?" Harry asked, smirking.

She smiled at him. "Oh yes."

"The ingredients aren't exactly easy to come by," Hermione said, choosing to ignore her best friend as he revelled in the fact that Draco had made a fool of himself in public.

"I get my ingredients overseas," Daphne explained. "I've been planning this for awhile now and I'm in good with a number of apothecaries."

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Neville suggested. He'd watched the scene unfold before him silently, also finding it funny that Draco had called Astoria an "unsolicited slut" in front of the press and honoured guests. But he really wanted to hear about Daphne's connections overseas.

Daphne nodded and jerked her head suddenly at the familiar growl to her right. Draco's head was clearing and he wasn't happy.

"Later," she promised him. "You can rant at me and thank me then. But for now, hold your tongue, _Malfoy_."

Hermione took Draco's hand and pulled him along to sit next to her. The office had never felt more inviting – she wasn't sure how to handle what had happened in that conference, but Astoria's less than graceful fall made her feel better about all of it at least.

Harry and Neville sat on the couch opposite the married couple and Daphne took the one at the head of their group. She inhaled deeply: no matter how confident she was about her plans, she was still alone in the room with an ex-Death Eater, two war heroes, and the brightest witch of their generation (also a war heroine in her own right). She had no idea if any of them were going to entertain hexing her after this, but she had no regrets, and instead of worrying about her safety, she frowned at Hermione.

"Do you remember Anastasie Babineaux?"

Hermione nodded, squirming slightly at the sound of the name.

Daphne continued. "Anastasie was my friend first and for the years she spent married to that arsehole, I was her _only_ friend. Everyone else gave up on her but I never did, and when Marcus turned on her, locking her up, _I_ was the only one who cared to find out what he'd done: he _drove_ her mad. Amongst other things, Marcus created a disembodied voice spell to make her think she was hearing things and was constantly casting temporary and short term versions of the Memory Charm on her to make her think she was losing her memory along with her mind. Eventually, he had the authorities lock her up in an asylum to get her out of the way."

Anastasie Babineaux… Hermione shuddered, a hand on her mouth as she struggled not to cry.

Harry cleared his throat. "Get her out of the way for what?"

"I don't know," Daphne admitted. "I still can't figure out what it is exactly that he's after – but I do know that he's been using Astoria to get it. The entire crap about using Scorpius to get the Malfoy estate was his idea, not Astoria's."

"But I'll bet she lapped it up," Draco scowled.

"Hang on," Neville said, raising his hand like he was back in Hogwarts. "Maybe that _is_ his ultimate plan: to get Draco's money and estate I mean."

She shrugged. "Maybe, but there's no way to tell for sure: if Astoria had won, that wouldn't give Marcus access to the Malfoy estate – it would be in my father's name until Scorpius turned seventeen."

"Cleanly out of the way," Harry mused. "But that doesn't really explain why you slipped Veritaserum to both Astoria and Draco."

"I think it does," Hermione said. "Think about it Harry: if Astoria won, it would all be according to Marcus's plans, whatever _that_ is."

"And we're just a step to that," Draco said, frowning at his old friend.

"Don't look at me like that," Daphne snapped at him. "If it were your friend, I doubt you'd have just sat back and let the arsehole that did it to her get away with it."

His features softened and Draco frowned at her. "You blame me, don't you – for how things have turned out."

"Of course I don't blame you Draco," Daphne said idly. "It was never your fault. You were a good husband, and a loving father, even if you still kept the brusque, spoilt kid act from Hogwarts going."

Hermione chuckled at her.

"See?" Daphne said. "Hermione knows what I'm talking about."

Draco growled. "Explain to me again why you never had time for me before I married your sister?" He asked sarcastically.

"Because I don't date jerks," she said seriously.

That was the last straw. Hermione broke out into fits of laughter, in which Daphne happily joined in at Draco's expense. He just glowered at them until they finally settled down.

"So what now?" Neville asked. "What are you going to do to Marcus?"

"Have him declared unfit," she said. "And for that I need help. I've gotten this far on my own, but I don't have the influence in courts the way you do–" she motioned toward Harry "–or the resources of the ministry at my command."

Harry gave her an uncharacteristic sneer. "I do _not_ command the ministry. That rumour is entirely false and unjust."

Ever since he started his crusade to abolish unfair pureblood laws, some people had been complaining he was being given special treatment because of his war status. They simply couldn't get it through their thick skulls how _hard_ he'd worked to even get the minister for magic to look at his proposals. Kingsley didn't have anything against abolishing said laws, but it was both unprecedented and insane to consider using the ministry to break centuries old blood vows.

He wasn't getting any special treatment… but he supposed if anyone else had asked (with the exception of Hermione perhaps), the minister might've sent them packing.

"Relax," Daphne said. "I don't pay attention to jealous gossip." She turned to face Draco. "I wanted to apologise to you: I didn't know at the time what Astoria had done to you, but I should've kept a closer eye on her, considering I _knew_ how angry she was at being betrothed to you."

He just nodded, not wanting to get into it.

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "What are you going to do about it?"

He shrugged. "Nothing I can do."

"You visited a Healer?"

"Of course."

"More than one?"

"Every Healer worth their salt."

"What about abroad?" She asked. "Great Britain isn't the only place with Healers you know. My second cousin's best friend married a Haitian apothecary."

'_Merlin restrain me,'_ he thought, growling softly. He really didn't want to talk about this.

"Huh?"

"Apothecary," Daphne repeated. "Jeez Draco: it's a Healer supply store. You go there," she said in her best patronizing voice, "you buy things. They have all the magical medicines available to the public."

Draco just glared at her, while Hermione went over the possibilities in her head. She'd thought about an apothecary when discussing this with Neville and the man was intrigued. She bit her bottom lip, staring at him. "Can you get what we need if you work with Daphne?"

"I was never very good at Potions," Neville said.

"What are you two prattling on about?" Draco asked.

Neville smiled. "Hermione's been getting my help with some Herbology homework."

"Homework?"

Hermione patted Draco's arm in a consoling way – he looked slightly alarmed. "He's joking about that part, technically. I was thinking about how Astoria poisoned you–" (Draco looked positively murderous now) "–and I checked her O.W.L.S. Don't be mad at me for telling Neville," she added hastily. "He's helped me come up with a solution."

"Everyone knows you're infertile," Harry reminded him. "Stop taking it so personally."

Draco glared at him (the chosen one was just riling him up) and glanced at the amused looking once upon a time loser and turned back to his wife. "You have a cure?"

It didn't seem possible. But this was Hermione…

"No," she said regretfully. "But I've the next best thing."

"A onetime only get-out-of-Azkaban free card, so I can kill the haughty slag?"

Harry chuckled, interrupting them, and then promptly apologised. "Continue."

"Thanks for the permission Potter."

"Fuck you Malfoy."

"I'd rather sleep with Astoria again, you–"

"Stay on topic gentlemen," Daphne interrupted.

Hermione chuckled. "I think it's cute how they snap at each other like that – almost like they're in love."

They stared angrily at her and she sighed. "I didn't find a way of reversing it, not completely – Astoria _really_ knows her stuff when it comes to potions – but there are a few things Neville's picked up on his travels that I can used to increase your fertility."

Draco gave her a glazed, unimpressed look and she attempted to simplify her meaning.

"Astoria poisoned you, this much is true, and your sperm count is almost non-existent, but your diagnosis was inaccurate: you're not actually infertile."

… …

… …

Twelve days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, Draco finally got some time away from his work, not to mention the frenzy of reporters over that debacle of a press conference, to really vent at his wife.

"When exactly did you extract a sperm _sample_ from me Granger?"

Hermione sighed. He had started calling her Granger again, which meant he really was angry. It had been two days since Daphne's confession, along with her own, and she'd have thought they'd be able to talk about this before now. The problem was damage control after the conference and their hectic lives. Draco had left both mornings, at seven o'clock, not returning until well into the night. There was a possibility of some big merger between his company and an overseas one, that he hadn't done anything upon coming home other than slip into bed next to her and fall asleep almost immediately. Both times, she'd been wide awake but too worried about letting on that she was – so she faked sleep: not that it mattered.

He'd been too exhausted to yell at her.

The weekend was just starting and he didn't want to get into this with Émilie or even Rosalie nearby, so they had the French witch floo over to Malfoy Manor with Émilie to visit Narcissa while they "discussed" this. The second they were gone, Draco demanded to know what she'd figured out with Neville behind his back. She'd explained that he was not infertile, as his sperm was still producing. However, he couldn't father a child because of the poison in whatever Astoria had concocted. They just needed to get rid of that.

Which brought him to his question of _how_ she'd extracted a sample from him without him noticing.

A blush lined her cheeks at the mention of it and she lowered her eyes. "When you uh… ejaculate, you always close your eyes."

"Of course I do," he snapped. "You ground me out _witch_, and it's fucking _hot_." Hermione giggled, despite herself, and he sighed. "Fine, all is forgiven. But you really should have told me."

She nodded, but reluctantly – she didn't regret keeping him in the dark, especially with everything else that had been going on at the time. The idea of actually being able to have more children might've raised his hopes, but she didn't want to say anything until she was sure. Since Daphne had slipped him some Veritaserum, Hermione was even more glad he hadn't known at the time.

"Tell me what you've found," Draco said, bringing her thoughts back to him, and she stared into those stormy eyes of his.

"Do you remember me telling you that digitalis purpurea is poisonous and shouldn't have made you infertile?"

Draco stared at her, confused.

"It's called Foxglove," Hermione said, "and is also known as Fairy Weed, among other things. Remember now?"

"At the New Year's ball in France."

"Yes. On its own, Foxglove is poisonous and potentially fatal, but Neville told me about a few plants that, if used in conjunction with it, prevent it from killing you if you ingest it."

Draco scoffed. "Well she said she _restrained_ from killing me."

Hermione smiled at that. "Yes well, wizards don't know much about DNA, despite the newer introductions of Muggle medicine into some of the healer departments, so they didn't really look close enough. Your sperm production and motility is almost non-existent, so I suppose there's no reason to sue anyone over the misdiagnosis. I only found it because I was looking for it."

If possible, Draco was even more confused. "So, what does this all mean?"

Hermione stepped toward him, running her hands down his chest. "It means stop worrying: I've got it covered."

… …

… …

Fourteen days on from the start of their fourteen day deadline, Hermione was terrified and elated.

Was it even possible?

She was nervous over the impending judgement on Draco's estate and whether or not Astoria had lost enough favour to be overruled, but also elated at the reminder that despite the debacle involved, Astoria had been publically outed. It was less than that woman deserved.

And it was the first time she would see Scorpius in the flesh.

The little boy appeared a little put out, dazed, and confused, which made her feel sorry for him. He looked so much like his mother, and she supposed the reason Draco hadn't noticed this wasn't his son was because he had indeed inherited platinum blonde hair – from who, she wasn't sure. Astoria's hair was more of a pastel blonde than anything. Marcus on the other hand, had dark hair. If he'd passed that onto Scorpius, Hermione was sure Draco would've checked the boy's genetics as early as possible.

Hindsight really was a _bitch_.

Scorpius was being led into the room by an elderly man that looked like both Astoria and Daphne, and Hermione surmised this was their father – or grandfather by how old he looked. Marcus on the other hand, wasn't in the room and Harry quickly explained to Hermione that he'd been arrested trying to break into a ministry sealed vault.

"Which vault?"

Harry shook his head as the members of the Wizengamot entered. She missed Dumbledore every time something reminded her of him. He'd been the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in his day. She sighed and gripped Draco's hand – he was on her left while Harry and Ginny were on her right. Neville was on the other side of Draco (surprisingly enough), and Daphne was nowhere to be seen. She vaguely wondered if and how that girl had gotten Marcus arrested, and where the Slytherin was now.

The members of the Wizengamot were individually introduced (something in the Muggle world that had filtered into the magical after the war was more propriety in court and less inattentiveness when it came to such things – she wasn't sure if, in this case, it was a good or bad thing).

"Scorpius Flint is no longer legally recognised as a Malfoy and will be moved into the custody of Dugart Greengrass until such time that this court decides otherwise."

Hermione let out a satisfied sigh, gripping Draco's hand tightly. _Four_ hours on, they'd finally gotten their act together and decided on a ruling. The only problem was that Astoria wasn't going to Azkaban – she could see how the law wouldn't put that on her, due to lack of evidence, despite her confession and use of a Pensieve, but it was still disappointing.

They filed out, and she greeted the woman waiting in the hallway for them.

Daphne had chosen not to participate – the ministry had her memories, and didn't need anything more from her. She returned the Gryffindor's hug and said goodbye to both Harry and Ginny as they left to go home. Neville nervously said goodbye and dashed off after them.

"Where is Flint now?" Draco asked his old friend before she could say a word.

"Azkaban," Daphne said, grinning slightly at that, but losing the smile at her next pronouncement: "He confessed to having tortured Anastasie to get full custody of their son."

"Julien Everard Flint, right?" Hermione asked.

Daphne nodded. "I'm moving to France to help them out – she's being release as soon as they complete the final psychological exam. France is much more open to Muggle ingenuity and they've got their own wards now."

"That's great."

"What did Marcus really want?" Draco asked.

Daphne smiled sadly. "His sons – both of them. Somehow, he'd gotten it into his head that he'd then have access to both the Greengrass and Babineaux fortunes. He only married Anastasie for her family connections."

"He seemed so sincere that night," Hermione said wistfully, thinking about the night she'd run into that group of Slytherins. "He _really_ sounded like he was happy, and not for wealthy reasons. He thanked me, saying I freed him from having to marry who his parents had wanted him to marry."

"He _was_ happy," Draco said. "He talked about it all the time, saying how much he was looking forward to a life with Anastasie."

Daphne frowned. "Then what went wrong?"

All heads turned as Astoria spoke up. "What are you prattling on about?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "You…"

The blonde witch scowled at her but didn't respond, turning to Draco. "You owe me–"

"Nothing," he interjected calmly. "I owe you nothing Astoria. I'm only disappointed you're not going to Azkaban – it would've made quite the splash on the front page of the Daily Prophet."

Astoria glanced backwards, at the Auror behind her. She hadn't been sentenced to Azkaban, but having her wand snapped was embarrassing enough. For a witch or wizard, losing their right to a wand was beyond humiliating: especially for a stuck up pureblood who thought only animals couldn't use magic. Her father was designated as her caregiver now, and she had no choice but to live in squalor, since the Greengrass assets had been frozen – the ministry was also looking into further corruption in their ranks due to her scheming, and Draco smiled at the thought of them sending her to Azkaban after all.

She frowned at his smile, visibly shaking now, and growled the moment the Auror grabbed her arm.

"And what of me?" Astoria half shouted, her anger breaking through her etiquette. "What am I to have now that you've married the mudblood?"

Draco raised his wand again, furious. "Don't call her that."

She snorted. "If it suits her, then it is what I will call her. You didn't answer me Draco."

He shook his head. "The answer is the same as last time Astoria. You get nothing. All I'll let you keep is your dignity, but if you continue to insult my wife, that will change."

The Auror tugged on her and she screamed at him, having to be pulled away. Perhaps, she would've chosen Azkaban if given the choice… perhaps not. Draco didn't care.

"I've been meaning to ask you Daphne," Hermione said, pretending that Astoria hadn't interrupted them. "What _exactly_ did you whisper in Draco's ear before the press conference? Draco keeps lying to me."

Daphne shook her head at him. "Idiot." She smiled at Hermione. "It was a little idiom I thought of when we were young – I liked him until our first day at Hogwarts, which was when the jerk side of him kicked in."

Draco shot her a dark look, but she ignored him.

"When snakes shed their skin, Slytherins slither in."

Hermione scoffed. "And what the hell does _that_ mean?"

"All for one and one for all," Draco said sheepishly.

Hermione grinned at that. "How very Muggle of you, _Greengrass_."

Daphne sighed. "I never said it was a very imaginative idiom, _Granger_."

… …

… …

The months seemed to just fly by. Spring became summer, then summer became autumn and finally, winter rolled around. If Professor Trelawney had survived the final battle at Hogwarts, she'd compare the preparations for Hermione and Draco's "wedding" to the cold hand of death. It was all Narcissa's idea, even though Hermione had gone along with it, to plan a second wedding – one for the cameras and glamorous memories of course.

It was like a Winter Wonderland in the hall they'd rented out, with ice sculptures, a silver and white colour scheme and snowy design – Hermione couldn't get over it. The entire Wizarding world knew they were married – they'd been outed pretty quickly and despite the simple ceremony – so she didn't feel special, not really. But there was something about seeing Muggle gnomes (the garden variety that looked like Santa Claus) incorporated with real one that had been stupefied and dressed up, that made her smile. The Weasley twins had done this once before, and this time, it was a joint effort between George Weasley and James Potter – but how the latter had been able to help, she still couldn't figure out.

To top it all off, the Daily Prophet had done an exposé on them, and it had been incredibly flattering. Hermione decided just to let the little girl inside of her free and enjoy the day. It wasn't every day that someone went to all of this trouble over her, and Narcissa had made an effort to get to know her after all. Narcissa had been extremely pushy about what she was calling the "Malfoy wedding encore" – like it was more show than heart. But she assured Hermione that she at least had her best interests at heart.

Lucius however, was still abrupt with her, but said nothing that would make anyone hex him, and his disappointment in having a half-blood grandchild seemed to have simmered. Émilie had finally grown on him, it seemed.

Neither Hermione nor Draco was quite ready to tell his parents that they had discovered he wasn't infertile after all. There was no need to open that can of worms just yet.

Entering the hall ahead of her mother, Émilie trailed the aisle and then skipped over to Rosalie (who was standing with the Potters), so happy that she didn't fight as James took her free hand in his and Ginny giggled softly at the show of affection.

He leant in and kissed her cheek, making her blush.

She mumbled a hasty "_merci_" and decided to let him continue to hold her hand. She watched with everyone else as her mother strolled down the aisle, wondering if this was something _all_ adults ended up doing, her eyes flickering to note her father's face: stunned reverie and… love. She had never been happier than she was right now. All that time she'd wanted her parents together, distraught by the impossibility of it all: it didn't matter anymore. She had her family, and as _pépé_ Granger released his hold on her mother, Émilie sighed, deeply content.

They recited their own vows, speaking of love, of family, of loyalty and their memories of each other from Hogwarts – not to mention the fact that they'd both denied their feelings in their own ways. Émilie was disappointed when it was all over, wanting to hear more about her parent's time at Hogwarts and how they would never look at each other the same again.

She got a hug from her parents, both grandparents (_pépé_ Malfoy needed a nudge from her _mémé_, but relented in the end) and close friends and family, and decided to let her parents off the hook when they disappeared shortly after the ceremonial first dance on the dance floor. They were totally making it up to her later. She was hungry anyway.

"_Merci_," Émilie said graciously as James offered her a piece of cake on a napkin. "_Vous __ne pas__ avoir faim__?"_ **[A/N: "You are not hungry?"]**

James nodded fervently. "I had a whole slice, but I dropped it. You can have this one."

Émilie was stunned. "Really?"

He grinned broadly. "I don't want it."

She narrowed her eyes and Ginny sighed behind them. "Always saying the wrong thing," the redhead muttered.

"James Sirius Potter, you are an imbecile!" She growled, a truly Malfoy tone to her voice. "_Et moi voulait vers un baiser vous_!" **[A/N: "And I wanted to kiss you!"]**

Ignoring James's stunned expression, she turned on Ginny next. "Where are _mère_ and _père_?" Émilie demanded. "I want to go home!"

"Do not sink to 'is level," Victoire Weasley said, coming up behind her best friend. She held a piece of the wedding cake on a napkin in her hand and was currently staring at it strangely. "'Ee is just an idiot I zink."

"Oi!" James snapped. "Take that back! I'm not an idiot!"

"Of course you're not sweetheart," Ginny said, frowning at Victoire. "Come on, let's find your grandparents Émilie."

The young Malfoy screwed up her face. "Yes, lets."

Victoire sighed as James continued to fume at her.

"Émilie?" Narcissa asked striding over to them. "What's wrong?"

"She's upset," Ginny said, and the older witch nodded, understanding.

"Come on," Narcissa said, taking her granddaughter's hand.

Émilie poked tongue at James as her _mémé_ led her away. "See you later, _Potter_!"

James huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as Ginny rolled her eyes at their antics.

'_Not another Potter-Malfoy rivalry.'_

She honestly didn't know which family was more ridiculous.

… …

… …

They'd snuck away, evading every keen eye and flashing bulb of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. Draco and Hermione had left instructions for Rosalie, but it wasn't necessary – plenty of other witches or wizards had offered to take Émilie in for the night. They apparated back to where it had all started, at least as far as the "real world" was concerned, this apartment was still just in Hermione's name, but that would soon change. As soon as their feet hit the floor, they wasted no time in tearing at each other's clothes, leaving them both naked from the waist up when Hermione suddenly stopped.

Draco groaned as she hesitated on the threshold. "What's the problem?"

"Astoria."

"Forget that bint," he whined. "This night is about you and me, okay?"

"I keep picturing–"

Draco pressed a finger to her lips. "She's going to Azkaban, and she deserves it. So can we have sex now?"

Hermione frowned at his crude reference. "Will it really come to that?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares?"

Annoyed that she was still ignoring his naked torso as she worried over Astoria Greengrass's fate, Draco scooped her up bridal style and threw her onto their bed. She gave a yelp as she landed and he climbed onto the freshly made sheets, advancing toward her on all fours.

"Forget about that _slag_," he said, "and focus on the task at hand, Mrs Malfoy."

She arched upwards as he ducked his head, and parted her legs. Hermione lost all ability for rational thought, giving into the pure rapture of having this gorgeous man between her legs. It was somehow different this time, rolling around, naked and in each other's arms – there was no dark cloud above their heads, no vindictive ex to tear them down (Ron had come to their wedding and surprisingly said _nothing_ that would make her want to hex him – as prim and pompous as Lucius had been, but at least bearable).

Feeling her climax coming, Hermione pushed Draco onto his back, grounding him out as she dug her nails into his skin: he came inside of her a moment later. She fell forward, her lips brushing the shell of his ear and she suddenly remembered the conversation she'd wanted to have with him earlier. Hermione held tightly to her husband, a flush of heat pulsing through her body and pooling in her groin. She shifted slightly as Draco's hands lazily trailed her spine and buttocks and whispered in his ear seductively.

"I'm pregnant."

Draco pushed at her slightly to look into Hermione's eyes. The shock on his face brought a smile to hers and she felt him harden again almost immediately and squealed as he threw her onto her back.

"I love you, Mrs Malfoy," he growled into her ear, pushing into her with renewed vigour.

Once they had both orgasmed several more times, Draco growled: Hermione called out in French, annoying him. "_Oh mon putain de dieu_." **[A/N: "Oh my fucking god"]**

'_I really need to learn French.'_

X X X

**A/N: Phew! And now that that's done, my sister will stop bugging me about updating and I can focus entirely on my other fics, lol. ;) ****Worth the wait… yes? *bats eyelashes* :)**

**So… if there were any more mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out (without flaming, of course). Anyway, tell me what you think – was it anticlimactic, boring, exciting… what?**

**Thank you so much to everyone who's read etc, reviewed, whatever. Dramione is an ocean and it's not easy finding that hook that lures people in – I hope I've entertained and enamoured someone, even if not everyone. So thank you again, and lotsa love! ^_^**

**R&R.**


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